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The Pinkerton Detective Series. 

I N issuing these Detective Novels, the publishers have been careful to put out 
the best of the kind. Every book is a complete exposition of some real 
crime, which has been traced to the guilty person or conspirators by some 
eminent member of_ the secret service. These stories, having facts for a 
foundation, are written in a fascinating manner, free from all improbabilities or 
mythical romances, but tell the methods, finesse of detective work, hair-breadth 
escapes, the perilous situations, failures and triumphs, in readable and intensely 
interesting style. 

The books will be found to abound in thrilling situations, unexpected dis¬ 
closures and dramatic conceptions, and are copiously illustrated, making the 
series one of the most popular ever published. 

THE WHITECHAPEL MURDERS; or, An American Detec¬ 
tive in London.By A. F. Pinkerton 

JOSEPH PRICKETT, the Scotland Yard Detective.By Inspector Murray 

JIM CUMMINGS; or, The Great Adams Express Robbery.. By A. F. Pinkerton 

A LIFE FOR A LIFE; or, The Detective’s Triumph.By A. F. Pinkerton 

A WOMAN’S REVENGE; or, The Creole’s Crime.By Myron Pinkerton 

THE SEVERED HEAD; or, A Terrible Confession.By F. Du Boisgobey 

THE STOLEN WILL; or, The Rokewood Tragedy.By Myron Pinkerton 

FILE No. 114; a Sequel to File 113.By Emile Gaboriau 

FRED BENNETT, The Mormon Detective....By U. S. Marshal Bennett 

SAVED AT THE SCAFFOLD; or, Nic Brown, The Chicago 

Detective.By A. F. Pinkerton 

$5,000 REWARD; or, Cornered At Last.By A. F. Pinkerton 

LINK BY LINK; or, The Chain of Evidence.By Nathan D. Urner 

TRACKED TO DEATH; or, Eagle Gray, the Western Detec¬ 
tive . By Morris Redwing 

THE GREAT TRUNK TRAGEDY; or, Shadowed to Austra¬ 
lia. A full and complete history of the celebrated Max- 

well-Preller case.By Morris Redwing 

DETECTIVE ACAINST DETECTIVE; or, A Great Con¬ 
spiracy . By Morris Redwing 

A CRIMINAL QUEEN; or, TheFatal Shot.By Ernest A. Young 

MARKET) FOR LIFE; or, The Gambler’s Fate.By A. F. Pinkerton 

DYKE DARREL, The Railroad Detective; or, The Crime of 

the Midnight Express.By A. F. Pinkerton 

A SHARP NIGHT’S WORK.By James Franklin Fitts 

THE DETECTIVE’S SECRET.By Nathan D. Urner 

MANACLE AND BRACELET.By Edmund C. Strong 

THE GREAT CRONIN MYSTERY; or, The Irish Patriot’s 

Fate.By A Chicago Detective 

MEXICAN BILL, The Cowboy Detective...By “Nevada Ned” 

A PRIVATE DETECTIVE: The Marvelous Career of a Noto¬ 
rious Criminal.By Lieut. John D. Shea, of the Chicago Police 

THE ROBBER KING: Thrilling Episode in a Career of 

Crime.By Detective Patrick Tyrell, of the Chicago Police 

THE ICEPOND MYSTERY, The Startling Story of a Terri- 

rible Crime.By Lieut. Joseph Kipley, of the Chicago Police 

THE RUNAWAY WIFE; or, Love and Vengeance. .By Captain Simon O’Don¬ 
nell, of the Chicago Police. 

A DARING HORSE THIEF..By Detective Pat’k Ryan, of the Chicago Police 
THE ONE-HANDED BURGLAR; or, The Tragic Fate of a 

Desperate Criminal.....By Lieut. Edward Laughlin, of the Chicago Police 
THE MAIL ROBBER; or, The Clever Capture of a Dis¬ 
honest Postal Clerk.By James E. Stewart, Chief Inspector Post Office Dep’t 
THE STOLEN LACES; an Episode in the History of Chi¬ 
cago Crime...By Denis Simmons, Ex-Chief of the Chicago Police 

The above books are handsomely bound, in lithographed covers, and are 
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203-205 Jackson St. CHICAGO, ILL. 
































E.MILE. ZOLA’S 


Powerful Realistic Novels. 


" A FTER reading Zola’s novels it seems as if in all others, even 
** in tlie truest there were a veil between the reader and the 
things described, and there is present to our mind the same differ¬ 
ence as exists between the representations of human faces on canvas 
and the reflection of the same faces in the mirror. It is like finding 
truth for the first time.”— Signor de Amicis. 

NANA. Translated from the 127th French edition. 

L’ASSOMMOIR. Translated from the 97th French edition. 

POT BOUILLEI (Piping Hot !> Translated from the 
87th French edition. 

THE LADIES’ PARADISE. Translated from the 
84th French edition, 

LA TERRE. M. Zola says of this, one of his latest works, 
•'I have endeavored to deal with the French peasant in this book,' 
just as I dealt with the Paris workman in •• L’Assommoir.” I have 
endeavored to write his history, to describe his manners, passions 
and sorrows in the fatal situations and circumstances in which he 
finds himself.” 

THE DREAM. Zola’s latest work—just published. 

LAIRD & LEE, PUBLISHERS, CHICAGO. 

Price, in paper covers, printed from large type on fine paper, 
cents a volume; elegantly bound in extra silk cloth and 
P os t-paid on receipt of price. 































































DENIS SIMMONS, 

Ex-Chief of the Chicago Police. 









THE STOLEN LACES 


AN EPISODE IN THE HISTORY OF CHICAGO 
CRIME. 


From the Diary of Ex-Chief Denis Simmons, 
of the Chicago Police. 


By JOHN T. POSTGATE. 


Copyright 1889 
By LAIRD & LEE 





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The Pinkerton Detective Series. Issued Monthly. By Subscription $3.00 per 
annum. Vol. 28, June, 1889. Entered at Chicago Postoffice 
as second-class matter. 


CHICAGO: 

LAIRD & LEE, PUBLISHERS 
1SS9 


THE LATEST WORKS 

OF THE 


MOST POPULAR AUTHORS. 


NANA.By Emile Zola 

LA TERRE.’.*.’.’.'.".’.'.’.By Emile Zola 

L’ASSOMMOIR.By Emile Zola 

NANA’S DAUGHTER; A Reply to “ Nana ".By Emile Zola 

THE DREAM.By Emile Zola 

POT BOUILLE (Piping Hot).By Emile Rola 

THE LADIES’ PARADISE.By Emile Zola 

THROUGH MIGHTY WATERS SAVED, A Romance of the 

Johnstown Flood.By Duke Bailie 

THE STORY OF CHARLES STRANGE.By Mrs. Henry Wood 

THE MISSING RUBIES.By Sarah Doudney 

AN ACTOR’S WIFE. By George Moore 

BROKEN VOWS.By Mattie Dyer Britts 

THE BLUE VEIL.By F. Du Boisgobey 

TANGLED LIVES; or, United At Last.By “Theron ” 

A GOLDEN HEART.By Bertha M. Clay 

MAY AND JUNE.By Edward R. Roe 

FROM THE BEATEN PATPI.By Edward R. Roe 

G. A. R.; or How She Married His Double.By Edward R. Roe 

DR. CALDWELL; or, The Trail of the Serpent.By Edward R. Roe 

FETTERED BY FATE.By Emma S. Southworth 

JERRY BLEEKER; or, Is Marriage a Failure.By R. C. Givins 

THE MILLIONAIRE TRAMP.By R. C. Givins 

A WIFE’S PERIL.By Mrs. M. E. Holmes 

A WOMAN’S LOVE.By Mrs. M. E. Holmes 

HER FATAL SIN.By Mrs. M. E. Holmes 

THE TRAGEDY OF REDMOUNT .By Mrs. M. E. Holmes 

THE WIFE’S SECRET.By Mrs. M. E. Holmes 

FOR A WOMAN’S SAKE.By Mrs. M. E. Holmes 

A HEARTLESS WOMAN.By Mrs. M. E. Holmes 

WHO WILL SAVE HER?.By Mrs. M. E. Holmes 

A DESPERATE WOMAN.By Mrs. M. E. Holmes 

ALLAN QUATERMAIN..By PI. Rider Haggard 

SHE.By H. Rider Haggard 

KING SOLOMON’S MINES.By H. Rider Haggard 

MR. MEESON’S WILL.By H. Rider Haggard 

GOTHAM AND THE GOTHAMITES; or, The Gay Girls 

of New York.By F. C. Valentine 

LADY VALWORTH’S DIAMONDS.By The “Duchess” 

MILDRED TREVANION.By The “Duchess” 

WEE FOLK OF NO MAN’S LAND; or, The Indian 


Maiden’s Faith.By May M. Wetmore 

MY QUEEN.By Mrs. Godfrey 

COWARD AND COQUETTE.By Mrs. Fairman Mann 

A DARK SECRET. . By Eva Catharine Clapp 

A HOUSE PARTY, AND THE BLUE CURTAINS.By“OuiDA” 

CHECKERED LIGHTS; or, The Sheriff ’s Daughter.By Fulton Gardner 

AGAINST FATE...By Mrs. M. L. Rayne 

BOUND BY A SPELL.By Hugh Conway 

MORGAN’S HORROR.By Geo. Manville Fenn 

CAUGHT IN A CORNER; or, A Terrible Adventure.ByG. W. Waters 

AS IN A LOOKING GLASS.By F. C. Philips 

THE UPLAND MYSTERY; A Tragedy of New England.By Mrs. M. R. P. Hatch 

A FROLICSOME GIRL....By John C. Wallis 

COURT ROYAL; or, Pawn Ticket No. 210.By S. Baring-Gould 

FORCED APART; or Exiled By Fate.By Morris Redwing 


The above books are bound in handsome lithographed covers, in four colors. 
They are for sale on all railroad trains, at all book stores, or will be mailed, on 
receipt of price, by the publishers. 1 


LAIRD & LEE, Publishers, 

203-205 Jackson St. CHICAGO. 
























































CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER. PAGE 

I.—A Consummate Flirt- - - - 7 

II.—A Conspiracy ------ n 

III. —A Spy - - -.17 

IV. —What Miss Goggles Heard - 21 

V. —A Devilish Plot.29 

VI. —Abducted . ..35 

VII. —Mr. Johnson’s Fears - - - 44 

VIII. —A Clever Burglary - - - - 51 

IX.—The Lace Robbery - - - - 59 

X. —A Meeting - -.67 

XI. —A Clue - -.76 

XII.—A Woman’s Love ----- 83 

XIII. —The Attack Upon Tpie House 89 

XIV. —A Conjugal Difference - - 97 

XV.—Mr. Johnson’s Experiences - 103 

XVI.—The Game Bagged - - - - 113 

XVII.—The Last One Found - - - 121 

XVIII.—A Confession.130 

XIX.—What Followed.134 

XX.—Hadley’s Visit.- 141 

XXI.—A Wicked Pair.149 

XXII.—A Horrible Tragedy - - - 160 

XXIII.—A Double Wedding - - - - 167 














The “Popular” Series. 


W E desire to call your particular attention to our “Popular Series.” WE 
DEFY COMPETITION in these books. Better books CANNOT BE 
PRODUCED for the price. They are all over i)4 inches thick, are bound 
in finest silk cloth in assorted colors and embossed on side and back in a highly 
artistic manner. They are also head-banded and enclosed singly in heavy man- 
ila wrappers, thus making them in manufacture equal to the highest priced books 
in the market. 


NANA. By Emile Zola 

LA TERRE.By Emile Zola 

L’ASSOMMOIR.By Emile Zola 

NANA’S DAUGHTER; A Reply to ‘Nana” .By Emile Zola 

THE DREAM.By Emile Zola 

POT BOUILLE (Piping Hot)... ..By Emile Zola 

THE LADIES’ PARADISE...\..By Emile Zola 

G. A. R.; or, How She Married His Double .By Edward R. Roe 

DR. CALDWELL; ^-r, The Trail of the Serpent.By Edward R. Roe 

MAY AND JUNE.By Edw’ard R. Roe 

FROM THE BEATEN PATH.By Edward R. Roe 

GOD REIGNS...By Edward R. Roe 

A DARK SECRET.By Eva Catharine Clapp 


M. E. Holmes 
M. E. Holmes 
Holmes 
Holmes 
E. Holmes 
E. Holmes 
Holmes 
Holmes 


M. E. 
M. E. 
M. 

M. 

M. 

M. 


E. 

E. 


A WOMAN’S LOVE.By Mrs 

HER FAT.. L SIN . By Mrs. 

THE TRAGEDY OF REDMOUNT.By Mrs. 

THE WIFE’S SECRET.By Mrs. 

FOR A WOMAN’S SAKE.By Mrs. 

A HEARTLESS WOMAN.By M*,s. 

A DESPERATE WOMAN. By Mrs. 

WHO WILL SAVE HER.By Mrs. 

THE MISSING RUBIES .By Sarah Doudney 

AN ACTOR’S WIFE ...By George Moore 

THE BLUE VEIL .By F. Du Boisgobey 

AGAINST FATE ..By Mrs. M. L. Rayne 

A GOLDEN HEART. .By Be?tha M. Clay 

COURT ROYAL; or, Pawn Ticket No. 210 ..By r . Baring-Gould 

TWELVE STEPS TOWARD HEAVEN .By Walter B. Adkins 

GOTHAM AND THE GOTHAMITES; or, The Gay Girls 

of New York.By F. C. Valentine 

LADY VALWORTH’S DIAMONDS.By The “Duchess” 

$5,000 REWARD; or, Cornerrd At Last.By A. F. Pinkerton 

A CRIMINAL QUEEN; or, The Fatal Shot .B., Ernest A. Young 

JIM CUMMINGS; or, The Great Adams Express Robbery. .By A. F. inkerton 

LINK BY LINK; or, The Chain of Evidence .Bv Nathan D. Urner 

MARKED FOR LIFE; or, The Gambler’s Fate .By A. F. Pinkerton 

DYKE DARREL, the Railroad Detective ...By A. F. Pinkerton 

THE GREAT TRUNK TRAGEDY; or, The St. Louis Maxwell- 

Preller Case .....By Morris Redwing 

JOSEPH PRICKETT, The Scotland Yard Detective .... By Inspector Murray 


The above books are Tor sale on all railroads, at all book 
stores, or will be mailed on receipt of price by the 
publishers. 


LAIRD & LEE, Publishers, 


203-205 Jackson st, 


CHICAGO, ILL 









































THE STOLEN LACES 


CHAPTER I. 

A CONSUMMATE FLIRT. 

Early in the spring of 1872, the boarders at 
Mrs. Frelinghuysen’s house, on West Adams street, 
felt themselves constrained to discuss and decide a 
very delicate question. For some time previous 
the conduct of Mrs. Alice Claypole had given them 
great concern. This lady was the wife of a middle- 
aged lawyer, of good standing, who seemed devot¬ 
edly attached to her, and was blind to the many 
•weaknesses of her character, and oblivious of the 
fact that her being in male society was a subject 
of unfavorable comment in the well-conducted 
establishment of the estimable Mrs. Frelinghuysen. 

Mrs. Claypole’s flirtations were the talk of the 
neighborhood, and her bald-headed, good-natured 
husband came in for a goodly share of that pity 
and compassion which the world has ever in store 
for persons apparently unconscious of their own 
misfortunes. 

“ Poor old Claypole,” was an oft-repeated remark; 
“ some one ought to open his eyes and let him 
know the full iniquity of his wife’s misconduct. ” 



8 


THE STOLEN LACES 


But none undertook this delicate mission, and 
“ poor old Claypole ” continued to idolize his 
charming and fascinating spouse — charming and 
fascinating, not only to him, but to some half- 
dozen other gentlemen who were said to languish 
in the sunshine of her smiles. 

Mrs. Claypole, to make matters more piquant 
and interesting to her fellow boarders, was not a 
beautiful woman, as the term goes. She was tall 
and shapely, however, dressed with becoming taste, 
and carried herself with a stately grace that never 
failed to elicit remarks of admiration. 

Her features were somewhat irregular and heavy 
in repose, but, when she became interested in con¬ 
versation, or, better still, when she was aiming at a 
conquest, her face lighted up with the ardor of her 
thoughts, and her big blue eyes flashed danger¬ 
ously from beneath half-drooping lids, fringed with 
long, dark eyelashes, that tried in vain to screen 
the passionate fire of amorous glances. 

No; Mrs. Claypole was not a beautiful woman, 
but she had that subtle power of charming, which 
is more fascinating than beauty, and plays the 
deuce with the virtuous instincts of mankind. 

Mr. and Mrs. Claypole had lived at the Freling- 
huysen establishment two months when the board¬ 
ers thought it high time to arrive at some conclu¬ 
sion as to the alleged improprieties of her conduct. 

Not content with the conquest of full-grown and 
bearded men, the fair Alice, who was thirty if she 
was a year, had recently shown a liking for the 
society of young men in their teens. Three or 



A CONSUMMATE FLIRT 


9 


four of those susceptible young fellows danced in 
constant attendance upon her. They ran her 
errands, escorted her to the theater, took her to 
supper after the play, and acted spooney generally 
in the manner peculiar to lovesick lads. 

And, what was most exasperating to the critics 
of mature age, Mrs. Claypole seemed to enjoy this 
hoidenish homage. She was soft and soothing, 
even motherly, in her demeanor toward her young 
admirers. She would stroke their cheeks and pat 
their heads lovingly, call them brave boys, and 
sometimes — so Miss Goggles, the ancient spinster, 
who occupied the first-floor hall bed-room, and 
was ever on the alert to spy out the moral delin¬ 
quencies of her neighbors, averred—kiss them 
tenderly and tell them to be good and true and 
devoted to their mother. 

“ She calls herself their mother, the artful 
wretch,” reported Miss Goggles, with a look of 
horror in her watery eyes; “ she ought to be horse¬ 
whipped! ” 

No wonder Mrs. Frelinghuysen’s boarders were 
stirred to the very depths of their honest hearts. 
Such vagaries on the part of a married woman were 
reprehensible in the highest degree. They called 
for an expression of virtuous indignation. Mr. 
Claypole ought to be informed of his wife’s moral 
obliquity. It was a burning, scandalous shame 
that such a nice, high-minded, honorable old 
gentleman should have the wool pulled over his 
eyes by this wicked woman, and he a lawyer, too, 


10 


THE STOLEN LACES 


with a professional knowledge of the relief which 
could be speedily gained in the divorce court. 

Then it was that the boarders came to the 
unanimous decision that Mrs. Claypole was a 
designing, heartless coquette; that her society 
should be tabooed, and that poor old Mr. Claypole 
should receive a broad hint of what was going on, 
with a view to a prompt disruption of his marital 
ties. 

The conveyal of this hint was deputed to James 
Hadley, clerk in a down-town lace store, who had 
worshiped at the shrine of the fascinating blonde 
when she first appeared at the boarding-house, 
and whose attentions had been suppressed with a 
scornful derision, which still rankled in his virtuous 
breast, and made him accept the mission with 
revengeful alacrity. 

And when Mr. Hadley finished his recital of 
Mrs. Claypole’s shortcomings and suspected pec¬ 
cadillos, which he delivered with many pious 
sighs and groans about the inconstancy of woman, 
he was almost petrified by “ poor old Claypole’s” 
emphatic rejoinder. 

“ You confounded idiot! ” cried the lawyer, 
shaking his fist in Hadley’s face; “ you lace¬ 
peddling dolt! If I hear another word of this, I’ll 
break every bone in your asinine carcass!” 


A CONSPIRACY 


II 


CHAPTER II. 

A CONSPIRACY. 

If Hadley had been a man of good common 
sense, he would have thought twice before meddling 
with the conjugal affairs of Mr. and Mrs. Claypole. 
Students of social philosophy have long recognized 
the dangers of such interference. Husbands and 
wives may fight like cats and dogs, they may be 
guilty of the grossest kinds of infidelity, but woe 
betide the rash individual who essays to patch up 
their quarrels or smooth the wrinkles in their code 
of mutual morality. 

Hadley, however, was young and impetuous, not 
accustomed to philosophical speculation, and he 
learned his first lesson of worldly wisdom from the 
bitter tongue of the irascible lawyer. It was not 
long ere he regretted the foolish step he took at 
the instigation of his fellow-boarders. 

Mr. Claypole, it can be readily imagined, had 
the fullest confidence in the honor and integrity of 
his wife. 

“ Ally,” said he, after venting his wrath on the 
callow dry-goods clerk; “ Ally, the fools are begin¬ 
ning to talk. It may be prudent to draw in a little. 
Give the boys a hint to be less demonstrative, and 
let us work slower for the common good.” 

“ Why, what is the trouble, Henry? ” asked Mrs. 
Claypole, as she got her husband’s slippers and 
drew his easy-chair in front of the cheerful grate 
fire in their private sitting-room. 


12 


THE STOLEN LACES 


“ That idiot Hadley has been telling me of your 
flirtations. The boarders are shocked at your free 
and easy ways, and they induced the fellow to 
enlighten me on the subject. I had half a mind to 
break his head.” 

“Oh! is that all?” said Mrs. Claypole, with a 
peculiar smile. “ So they think I am a wicked, 
reckless flirt? I admire their penetration. But, 
under all the circumstances, Henry, it’s a splendid 
reputation. A flirt has no time for other business, 
and our affairs may flourish without suspicion while 
they think I’m engrossed in the pleasurable occu¬ 
pation of juggling with hearts. As for Mr. Had- 
ley, you may leave his punishment to me. I will 
settle him in a way he will remember for the rest 
of his life.” 

“ He deserves something, the meddlesome fool,” 
responded Mr. Claypole, in a contemptuous tone. 
“ But what is your plan? ” 

“ Wait and see,” was the quiet rejoinder, while 
those big, blue eyes flashed ominously; “ it will be 
in the direct line of business.” 

“Ah! I understand,” said the elderly lawyer. 
“ Do you expect any one this evening?” 

“ Herman promised to be here about nine 
o’clock.” 

“ Well, I will take a nap, and afterward go to the 
club, so that you may work him alone. He is 
smart as a whip, that lad; and I expect great 
things of him,” and, with this, Mr. Claypole 
settled himself in the easy-chair, closed his eyes, 
and was soon snoring gently in front of the Are. 


A CONSPIRACY 


13 


Mrs. Claypole, who was more annoyed by the 
incident of the evening than she was willing to 
ac.*_.u, took up the evening paper, and rapidly 
scanned its columns. She seemed to be looking 
for some particular item of news. Presently a 
paragraph struck her eye, which she read with 
great interest. 

“ The scheme works well,” she muttered. “ No 
clue? Of course not. Trust a woman’s wits for 
that. Six months more will give us all the money 
we need, and then for the Sunny South. Bah! 
How I detest this horrid climate, as well as the 
hurry-scurrying habits of the people. Everything 
is rush and bustle and money-making. Well, let 
them pile up their wealth, let them repair the rav¬ 
ages of the fire, and build costly temples of trade 
and commerce. Those who neither weave nor 
spin will be the gainers in the end. Honest indus¬ 
try is ever opening up avenues of idleness and 
luxury for those who have the courage and ability 
to follow the only royal road to ease and affluence.” 
Mr. Claypole finished his nap in about an hour, 
2nd at once went out to spend the evening at his 
club, leaving his wife alone to entertain the 
expected visitor. 

She added a few touches to her toilet after the 
departure of her husband, and then sat down to 
the piano and sang one or two love songs in a low 
contralto voice. 

The music reached the ears of the boarders in the 
parlor, who by this time had worn the sensational 
story of Hadley’s reception by Mr. Claypole thread- 


14 


THE STOLEN LACES 


bare, and were deliberating as to the next step to 
be taken in exposing the scandalous doings of the 
fascinating blonde. 

“ The old fool has gone out as usual,” said one. 
“ She’s expecting somebody. She always sings 
those sentimental ditties when one of those kids is 
coming.” 

“ Well,” remarked another, an elderly gentleman 
with a pair of twinkling brown eyes, “ I think we 
had better allow things to take their natural course. 
The flirtations of married women bring their own 
punishment, and I guess old Claypole will finally 
come to his senses without any assisting on our 
part.” 

“ But it’s so abominably disgraceful,” snapped 
Miss Goggles. “ I wouldn’t mind so much, if she 
confined her attentions to grown men, who ought 
to know better than to encourage her base designs; 
but to think of her inveigling those boys. Why, 
it’s an outrage against all the recognized maxims of 
good society.” 

" Never mind that, Miss Goggles,” said the old 
gentleman, who seemed anxious to restore peace in 
the Frelinghuysen establishment. “ We have done 
all we can for the present. Besides, we have no 
evidence that there is anything radically improper. 
All pretty women like to flirt.” 

“Oh! Mr. Johnson,” ejaculated the spinster, 
blushing feverishly. “ How can you say such a 
thing? ” 

“ It>s true, Miss Goggles,” said Mr. Johnson, 
stoutly, and with a touch of gallantry. “ Coquetry 



A CONSPIRACY 


15 


is one of the prerogatives of the sex; the art is 
inseparable from female loveliness. Don’t attempt 
to deny it, Miss Goggles; you, of all women, ought 
to be the first to recognize the universal truth. ” 

The old fellow, who was suspected of matrimonial 
designs on the antiquated spinster, accompanied 
this speech with a glance which threw Miss Goggles 
into a flutter of excitement. Several of the gentle¬ 
men tittered at her confusion, but she was too busy 
with the tender thoughts Mr. Johnson had suddenly 
inspired to notice their amusement. 

“ Well, what shall we do, Mr. Johnson?” asked 
Miss Goggles, as soon as she regained her com¬ 
posure. 

“ Nothing,” was the laconic response. 

" Nothing? ” 

There was a tone of disappointment in this query 
which caused Mr. Johnson to elevate his eyebrows 
suspiciously. But he was firm in the resolution 
with which he sought to imbue his fellow boarders. 

“That’s just it,” he rejoined, emphatically. 
“ We’ll do nothing more, but wait and-” 

“ Watch,” chimed in Mr. Hadley. 

“ Yes, sir; wait and watch. You have hit it 
exactly. I thought you would realize the wisdom 
of this course. ” 

Hadley’s face flushed, but he had gained wisdom 
since his interview with “ poor old Claypole,” and 
deemed it prudent to say nothing. 

Something about the programme struck the 
boarders favorably. The first step of active inter¬ 
ference had resulted disastrously. The old lawyer 


16 


THE STOLEN LACES 


was evidently indifferent to the fate his wife so 
recklessly invited. “ Waiting ” and “ watching ” 
were words full of mystery and ominous import. 
The programme presaged keen excitement. Ten 
pairs of eyes scrutinizing every look and action of 
a frivolous woman,ten superheated brains wrestling 
with the motives that guided her conduct, and ten 
busy tongues ready to tear her reputation to tatters 
on the slightest provocation — why, the prospect 
was delightful to this modern school for scandal, 
and with one accord the boarders lifted up their 
voices in approval. 

“ Agreed,” was the unanimous verdict. “ We’ll 
wait and watch.” 

Meanwhile nine o’clock had arrived, and, with 
it, Mrs. Claypole’s expected visitor. From her 
cozy little sitting-room up-stairs came the rhythmic 
thrumming of the piano and the soft contralto 
voice singing in delightful unison, “ You’ll Remem¬ 
ber Me.” 

“ One of them’s there/’ said Miss Goggles, in a 
stage whisper. “ She always sings that song when 
that curly-headed boy comes. But it’s getting late 
— I wish you all good evening.” 

And Miss Goggles glided swiftly from the parlor, 
and went up-stairs. 

“ The game’s begun,” remarked Mr. Johnson, 
with a significant shrug. 

“ How so ? ” asked Hadley. 

“ Miss Goggles is first on watch.” 


A SPY 


1 7 


CHAPTER III. 

A SPY. 

Mr. Johnson was right. Miss Goggles was 
first on watch. 

The watery-eyed spinster foresaw many personal 
advantages in the scheme of espionage agreed upon 
by the boarders. In the first place, nature seemed 
to have endowed her with especial gifts for poking 
and prying into the personal affairs of others. 

Her eyes, expressionless though they were, were 
remarkably sharp, both at short and long range. 
Her ears, which bulged out like miniature cornuco¬ 
pias, had very susceptible tympanums, which accu¬ 
rately received and registered the slightest undula¬ 
tion of sound. Her nose, long, sharp and pointed, 
seemed framed to scent out scandal; while her high, 
narrow forehead betokened intellectual qualities in 
keeping with those other tokens of inquisitiveness 
and cunning. 

Then, she had a footfall as soft and velvety as 
that of a cat. She glided noiselessly about the 
house, and was constantly turning up in the midst 
of interesting domestic incidents. The servants 
said she had a disagreeable habit of looking through 
keyholes. One night, when young Mr. Jobson 
came home slightly under the weather, and Mrs. 
Jobson began to moan and cry and threaten to return 
to the aching bosom of her mother, Miss Goggles 
was caught peering through the transom of their 
The Stolen Laces 2 


i8 


THE STOLEN LACES 


room. She excused herself on the ground that 
she thought the wretch was murdering his unfor¬ 
tunate wife, and she wanted to be able to testify 
against him in the Criminal Court. 

Mrs. Jobson came near tearing her eyes out the 
next morning, and Mr. Jobson, mortified and 
humiliated almost beyond endurance, consulted a 
scientific friend as to the practicability of securing 
the germs of some malignant disease with which 
to quietly inoculate the innocent, saintlike Miss 
Goggles. 

This showed Mr. Jobson to be a bitter, spiteful 
man, quite capable of the awful crime which the 
spinster suspected him of contemplating; but a 
man cannot feel friendly and dovelike toward a 
woman who has witnessed and gloated over his 
first connubial tiff. 

Then, Miss Goggles was pleased with the new 
programme because it emanated from Mr. Johnson. 

This old gentleman had been particularly atten¬ 
tive to the spinster of late. He had taken her to 
the theater several times, and grown tenderly senti¬ 
mental over the subsequent oyster stews. More 
than once he had waxed confidential over the parlor 
stove, and spoken of his financial affairs in a way 
which excited her to envy, if it did not warm to 
love. 

She felt herself blushing whenever those kindly, 
twinkling brown eyes looked into the literally liquid 
depths of her own passionless orbs. Affairs had 
reached such a pass now that Mr. Johnson had only 
to whisper an affectionate word, and she was ready 


A SPY 19 

to flop into his arms, and proclaim vows of undying 
devotion. 

But Mr. Johnson did not whisper that word, 
contenting himself with an occasional sigh, and a 
glance of respectful adoration. He sometimes 
called her “ Henrietta ” — that was her given name 
— but the word seemed to come from him un¬ 
awares, and he lapsed into moody silence every 
time it escaped his lips. 

Now was the opportunity of her life, she argued, 
as she glided up-stairs to her hall bed-room. If 
she were industrious in her espionage, if she dis¬ 
covered reckless abandon on the part of the fasci¬ 
nating Mrs. Claypole, if she were the first to 
procure proofs of unlawful conduct, Mr. Johnson 
would be profuse in expressions of admiration, and 
probably be impelled to make the longed-for 
declaration. 

When Miss Goggles reached her room, she 
closed the door noiselessly. Inside there was 
another door which communicated with the sitting- 
room of Mr. and Mrs. Claypole. This door, of 
course, was locked on the other side. The key¬ 
hole was stuffed with paper, the chinks were cov¬ 
ered with list, and the glass of the transom had a 
green baize covering to shut out the gaze of curious 
eyes, and deaden the sounds within. 

It was evident that the Claypoles knew of and 
were desirous of circumventing the inquisitive pro¬ 
clivities of their next-door neighbor. 

But the genius of Miss Goggles rose superior to 
trivial obstacles of this kind. Days ago she had 


20 


THE STOLEN LACES 


seized a chance to enter the Claypole apartments 
and unfasten the button which held the transom 
closed. This maneuver had evidently not been 
noticed, since only that morning, while Mrs. Clay- 
pole was down town shopping, she had tried the 
transom, and found it work responsively and noise¬ 
lessly to her touch. 

As to the key-hole, a pair of tweezers had picked 
the paper almost entirely out, bit by bit, until only 
a thin layer remained, which could be easily 
removed when the exigencies of the case required 
such a step. 

Consequently, Miss Goggles was well situated to 
play the part of a spy, and, if need be, to surprise 
the blonde in the very height of her amours. 

And Miss Goggles chuckled softly to herself as 
she heard the lid of the piano close, and the sing¬ 
ing give place to sounds of earnest conversation. 

Turning down the gas, the inquisitive spinster 
mounted on a chair, pushed the transom open a 
little, and was delighted to find that the angle of 
vision thus obtained, gave her a full view of Mrs. 
Claypole and her visitor, besides enabling her to 
hear every word that passed between them. 

What was transpiring in the Claypole sitting- 
room must have been profoundly entertaining, since 
for a full hour, at the risk of cramp in her neck, 
Miss Goggles remained in this uncomfortable atti¬ 
tude, with wide-staring eyes, and eager, open ears, 
taking in the scene below. 

Suddenly the ancient spinster released her hold 
of the transom, sprang from the chair with a sup- 


WHAT MISS GOGGLES HEARD 21 

pressed scream, hastily undressed herself, got into 
bed, and pulled the clothes over her head, like a 
frightened child. 


CHAPTER IV. 

WHAT MISS GOGGLES HEARD. 

What was the cause of Miss Goggles’ agitation ? 
The spinster had nerved herself to see and hear 
strange goings-on in the Claypole sitting-room. 
Something out of the ordinary run of scandalous 
proceedings must have occurred to make her dive 
deep under the bedclothes as if she wanted to shut 
out the remembrance of a horrible sight. 

When the expected visitor was admitted, Mrs. 
Claypole was seated at the piano warbling plaintive 
love songs. She rose and received him, cordially, 
calling him “ Dear Herman,” and allowed him to 
press his lips to her cheek. 

The boarders were right as to the age of this 
youthful admirer. He was about seventeen years 
old. He had a bright, sunny face, with laughing 
blue eyes, and flaxen, curly hair brushed from a 
square, intelligent forehead, adorned by heavy, 
bushy eyebrows, which were arched like a bow at 
full tension. 

He was dressed with great neatness. His black 
cut-away coat was of the newest pattern, the vest 
cut low, showing a wide expanse of shirt bosom. 
He wore a gold watch-chain of excellent make, and 


22 


THE STOLEN LACES 


on the little finger of his right hand was a solitaire 
diamond ring. 

The boy looked like a well-to-do broker’s clerk. 
He carried himself easy and gracefully, as though 
accustomed to society. 

He was evidently a welcome guest, for Mrs. 
Claypole’s eyes dwelt lovingly on his handsome 
face, and beamed with pleasure as he asked her to 
resume her seat at the piano. 

“ What shall I play, Herman?’’she asked, smil¬ 
ing. 

“ You know my favorite song, Ally,” he replied. 
“ Sing, ‘ You’ll Remember Me.’” 

Mrs. Claypole complied, and the boy hung on 
the tones of her low, rich voice with rapt attention. 
His eyes followed her every movement; his face 
flushed with delight when she turned to him dur¬ 
ing the tender passages of the song, and accented 
them by glances which sent a thrill through his 
frame. 

There could be no doubt as to the feelings with 
which the lad regarded her; he was desperately in 
love with his fair enchantress. 

And Mrs. Claypole? It would be difficult to 
probe her feelings. Practiced in all the arts of 
coquetry, she ‘could play with hearts at will, and 
yet remain serene and cold beneath the surface. 

The conversation with her husband denoted that 
the lad was kept under the spell for a purpose. 
What was the purpose which could induce a woman 
of mature age to enthrall a boy, and keep his heart 
jumping in response to her seductive wiles? 


WHAT MISS GOGGLES HEARD 23 

Just as Miss Goggles was gently opening the tran¬ 
som, Mrs. Claypole again left the piano, and seated 
herself by the side of the boy, who, with a trace 
of old-time gallantry, raised her jeweled fingers to 
his lips and kissed them. The action sent a thrill 
through the bosom of the antique eavesdropper, 
which was intensified when the blonde ran her fin¬ 
gers lovingly through his flaxen curls, and fondly 
patted his rosy cheeks. 

“ Now, that is enough nonsense for to-night,” she 
said, with a winning smile. “ Tell me what you 
have been doing lately, Herman.” 

“ You ought to know, Ally,” he answered, laugh¬ 
ingly;or doesn’t the governor make daily reports?” 

“ I am afraid he does not tell me everything,” 
was the smiling reply, “ and I always like to hear 
of the exploits of the boys from the captain’s own 
lips.” 

The lad was evidently pleased. He said, frankly: 
“ To tell you the truth, Ally, I have been a little 
suspicious of the governor of late. He doesn’t seem 
to be toting fair. He says he only got $1,000 for 
that last bundle, while I have it on the best author¬ 
ity that the stuff brought $1,700. The gang are mad 
about it, and you better give him a gentle hint that 
we will stand anything but swindling on his part. 
We run all the risk, and he ought surely to be sat¬ 
isfied with a square divvy.” 

A shadow crossed the womans face, but it was 
gone in a moment. 

“ You are right, my boy,” she said, in a caress¬ 
ing tone. “ Henry should be more careful of your 


24 


THE STOLEN LACES 


interests — indeed, of all our interests, since we are 
all in the same swim. But you know what he is.” 

“ Yes,” responded the boy, moodily ; “ I know 
what he is, and he better be a little more careful. 
Had it not been for you, Ally, we would have 
broken with him long ago, and given him a push 
toward the pen. If you say the word now, I’ll 
risk everything to settle him, and we’ll go South 
together.” 

“ No, no ! Herman,” cried the woman, in a tone 
of alarm ; “ that would never do, you foolish boy. 
I must still be your mother, and you must be kind 
and considerate to Henry.” 

The boy pouted, but returned the kiss with which 
this declaration terminated. 

“ I am getting tired of this ‘ mother’ business,” 
he said, testily. “ A fellow don’t want two 
mothers.” 

“ But you need me, my dear, to keep you safe. 
You would have been in trouble a year ago had I 
not caught you in time. Now, be patient, Herman, 
and don’t harbor harsh thoughts about the gov¬ 
ernor. I want my boys to work pleasantly together, 
and we’ll soon be able to enjoy the good time that’s 
coming.” 

“ All right, Ally,” said the lad, in a more cheer- 
ful spirit. “ I’ll not only wait, but work, if you 
say so.” 

‘ That’s my brave boy,” said the woman, kissing 
him again warmly. “ Now, tell me what’s in the 
wind.” 

“ Well, we’ve done some fine night work lately,” 


WHAT MISS GOGGLES HEARD 


25 


Herman responded, his eyes flashing enthusiasm 
tically at the recollection. “ We’ve been cracking 
private cribs, and the governor has several thou¬ 
sands in the vault, which will be worked off soon 
on the outside. The cops are all at sea. They are 
looking for Eastern crooks, and have no idea that 
home talent is at the bottom of all the fine work in 
town. I pass members of the central detail every 
day, and they don’t condescend to notice the ped¬ 
dler-boy who is disposing of stolen goods under 
their very noses.” 

The lad laughed heartily at this evidence of the 
perspicuity of the police, and continued : 

“ We are going to branch out in another direc¬ 
tion. The private house racket is played out, for 
the people are getting alarmed, and laying in stocks 
of fire-arms to give the cracksmen a warm recep¬ 
tion. We will scoop in the business district next. 
There are lots of fine pickings in some of the whole¬ 
sale houses, and we have two or three marked 
which are easy to crack. Oh! there’ll be no end 
of fun and boodle during the next three months, 
and then it will be time to take that vacation you 
spoke of. ” 

“ I am glad you*are working toward the business 
center,” said the woman. “But how are you on 
blowing? ” 

“ Curly has been practicing lately,” answered 
the lad, “ and promises well. A fellow from St. 
Louis, an old-timer, has him in tow, and says he’ll 
be a daisy in a few months. But we don’t depend 
on blowing for good hauls. We’ll take all the loose 


26 


THE STOLEN LACES 


stuff we can find — such stuff that can easily be 
peddled, and has quick sales in offices and private 
houses. The governor’s vault is a safe hiding 
place.” 

“ But isn’t this peddling fake risky? ” asked Mrs. 
Claypole, uneasily. 

“ Bless you, no,” replied the lad, laughing. " It’s 
the greatest scheme on earth. The cops will never 
suspect poor peddler boys of being mixed up with 
high-toned cracksmen. The very openness of our 
street fake is an insurance against suspicion, and I 
understand the scheme is being adopted by the 
big-bugs in New York.” 

“ Well, you must be cautious, Herman. I don’t 
want any of my chicks nabbed. ” 

“You needn’t be afraid, Ally,” said the boy. 
“ We’ve got everything fixed in case of trouble. 
He’ll be a fly cop indeed, who tumbles to our 
racket. ” 

“ Do you think, Herman,” said the woman, with 
some hesitation, “ that you could do a little job on 
my own account? ” 

“ Why, of course I can,” promptly replied the 
lad. “ Anything you want will be attended to; 
the boys swear by their mother. Just give it a 
name, and consider it done.” 

Mrs. Claypole smiled at Herman’s confident tone. 
She was proud of her influence over the “ gang,” 
who were always ready to obey her slightest behests, 
and she was particularly pleased with the ardent 
homage of the handsome captain. She drew her 


WHAT MISS GOGGLES HEARD 27 

chair nearer to him, and caressed him in motherly 
fashion. 

“ Two people have offended me grievously,” she 
said, in a tone of mingled mournfulness and malig¬ 
nity; “ they have tried to damage my reputation 
in this neighborhood, and want to set Henry against 
me, because I am kind and affectionate toward you, 
Herman.” 

“ Who are the villains? ” cried the boy melo¬ 
dramatically. “ Give me their names, and the 
gang will soon settle their hash. ” 

“Oh!” responded Mrs. Claypole, with a lan¬ 
guishing sigh, which had the effect of stirring Her¬ 
man to deeper anger, “ I don’t want any rash deed 
of vengeance. This is a matter which can be 
disposed of without bloodshed. I would like their 
punishment to be lingering — to be in the nature 
of mental agony, the loss of friends and the sacri¬ 
fice of good name — in short, to make them objects 
of scorn, to make them suffer as they intended I 
should suffer. ” 

“ They shall do all this and more, I swear,” ex¬ 
claimed the lad, excited by the quiver in the 
woman’s voice, and the-tear she had forced to glisten 
in her eye. “ Who are they? ” 

" One is a woman,” said Mrs. Claypole, “ who 
watches my movements and circulates evil reports 
about my character —a malicious, spiteful wretch, 
whose life has been one long chapter of deceit and 
wickedness, and whose sole excuse for living now 
is that she may sow the seeds of dissension and 
hatred broadcast in the hearts of loving husbands 


28 


THE STOLEN LACES 


and trusting wives. You know her, Herman; she 
lives in this house.” 

The lad jumped to his feet and paced the floor 
excitedly. 

“It’s that Goggles,” he cried. “Know her? 
Why, of course I know her, the prying, meddle¬ 
some hussy. And she has dared to talk of you — 
to backbite and slander you! Say, Ally”—and 
he spoke in a tragic whisper, every syllable reach¬ 
ing the acute ears of the eavesdropper —“ well 
kidnap her and bury her alive. If she makes any 
outcry, this will settle her.” 

And the lad pulled a murderous-looking dirk 
from his hip-pocket, and brandished it fiercely, like 
a stage villain. 

It was at this juncture that the transom closed, 
and Miss Goggles hurried to bed, shivering and 
quaking with fear. If she had listened a little 
longer she would have heard the cruel blonde 
acquiesce in this boyish scheme of revenge, and 
become acquainted with a scarcely less fiendish 
plan to get even with Mr. Hadley for his imperti¬ 
nent interference in Mr. Claypole’s personal affairs. 

But Miss Goggles had heard too much. Her 
nervous system was severely shocked. She passed 
a dreadful night, and in the morning was found 
dangerously ill with brain fever. 


A DEVILISH PLOT 


29 


CHAPTER V. 

A DEVILISH PLOT. 

FINISHING their conversation, the young man 
who had been called “ Herman ” looked at his watch 
(one of those gold-filled cases which are calculated 
to mislead the eye of the casual observer), and said, 
in a surprised tone: 

“ Nearly eleven o’clock; I had no idea it was as 
late as that. While in your charming society, 
Ally, the time passes so swiftly that a fellow needs 
three or four ‘ seegars* to keep cases on it.” 

The woman smiled, and said, in alow, soft tone: 

“ I would not give so much of my agreeable 
society to any one else but you, dear. You are 
the only one of all my chicks that I love to talk to 
— delight to please.” 

“ Do you really mean that, Ally, or is it a gag? ” 
he speaks, earnestly. 

“ No, Herman, I really mean it. You work out 
my little job for me, and you don’t know what 
might happen.” 

“ By God! it is as good as done,” he cried, vehe¬ 
mently. “ Give me an equal show with the Gov¬ 
ernor; that’s all I ask.” 

“ I may give you more of a show,” she murmured, 
with a sweep of the deep blue eyes, and a meaning 
nod of the blonde head. 

The young fellow grasped her hand. 

“ What do you mean, Ally? ” he cried. 

“ Never mind now,” she answered, releasing her 


30 


THE STOLEN LACES 


hand. “ Only work out my scheme, and you will 
be better rewarded than you think. Now go, dear. 
Don’t stand there looking at me. You will find me 
a friend,” with an emphasis on the words, “ worth 
having.” 

The young criminal turned aside, his eyes 
dancing with amorous fire, his mouth working. 

“ All right,” he said. “ You will have no cause 
to kick at my work. ” 

“ What is on hand for to-night? ” she asked, as 
he strode toward the door. 

“ A job on West Monroe street, way up on the 
West Side. Case of silverware, and, perhaps, 
some cash jewelry, for the parties are well fixed.” 

“ I will see you, then-” 

“To-morrow. Good-night. Kiss me.” 

She turned her ripe red lips up to him. He 
kissed her passionately. 

At this moment they are startled by hearing the 
sound of a low moan. 

“ What’s that? ” he cried, startled. 

“I don’t know,” she answered, in a whisper. 
“ Listen! We may hear it again.” 

Standing near the door, they both inclined their 
heads to listen. While in this attitude of atten¬ 
tion, the faint sound came to them again. 

“ It comes from Miss Goggles’ room,” whispered 
Mrs. Claypole. “ She must be sick.” 

“ Good thing if she is,” growled the young man. 
“ The meddlesome old fagot. ” 

Mrs. Claypole did not seem to hear him; if so, 
she paid no attention to his words. Quietly she 



A devilish plot 


SI 

crossed the room to the door. Falling upon her 
knees, she applied her eye to the key-hole. Then 
she rose to her feet. 

“ I have made a discovery,” she cried. 

“ Well ! ” 

“ Knowing this woman’s propensities for poking 
her nose in other people’s affairs, I closed up this 
key-hole. I find that nearly all the paper has been 
removed, for I can hear her breathing heavily. I 
could not hear her if the paper was there. Give 
me your knife.” 

He handed her the dirk. She fell upon her 
knees again, and in a short time rose triumphantly 
to her feet. In her hand she held a small piece of 
paper. 

" Just as I told you,” she said. “ This is all 
there is left there.” 

The young man did not reply. He was think¬ 
ing. 

“You see, we have much to fear from her,” 
said the woman, significantly. 

“ Yes; you’re right. She might have overheard 
our conversation to-night,” savagely. 

“ Then, immediate steps must be taken.” 

“ What can we do?” 

" Something must be done,” positively. 

The young fellow thinks—at last he said: 

“ She seems to be sick; why can’t we go into her 
room and see what ails her. If she is sick, we 
might offer to go for a doctor or something. I 
know a good doctor,” significantly. 

“ Get even with her that way? ” 


32 


THE STOLEN LACES 


“ Yes, why not? If she heard our scheme to¬ 
night, she’ll queer us, to a dead moral certainty, 
and dead men tell no tales, nor women either.” 

“ I don’t like to kill any one.” 

“ Would you rather be jugged ?” 

“No.” 

" Then something has got to bo done, and 
mighty quick. I am surprised at you. You are 
always the one to spring the fakes, now I have to 
coax you.” 

The woman flushed. 

“ All right, Herman. If she tells what she knows, 
it will certainly do us lots of harm. The gang 
would be jugged. We would all be queered. We 
will go in and decide afterward what’s the best 
thing to do. ” 

“ Have you got a key that will open the door? ” 

“ Yes, and any one in the house. You don’t 
suppose your‘mother ’ would live in a house with¬ 
out being fixed for an occasional visit to the dif¬ 
ferent rooms? ” she spoke, half reproachfully. 

“ Well, hardly; you’re a fly woman, Ally— I 
didn’t think.” 

Mrs. Claypole touched him gently, playfully upon 
the forehead, “ You must think, honey,” she said, 
then took a key from her pocket, and softly inserted 
it in the lock — it turned noiselessly. The next 
moment they were in the room. Miss Goggles lay 
upon the bed breathing hard. Her pinched face 
was drawn as if with pain. Occasionally a groan 
burst from her parted lips. 

The woman walked over to her bedside, and 


A DEVILISH PLOT 


33 

stood watching her for a moment; then she laid her 
hand on her head. 

“ Burning up with fever,” she whispered to her 
companion. “ I wonder what took her so sudden?” 

“ I can’t understand. She’s going to be pretty 
sick.” ' 

No sympathy in the tone of the woman’s voice, 
rather satisfaction. “ Good thing,” muttered Her¬ 
man for the second time that night. Suddenly the 
sick woman opened her lips, a few words come 
from them. 

The two, standing by her bedside, caught the 
words : 

“ Buried alive ! Oh dear me, will they do such 
a thing ? ” 

A light came to Mrs. Claypole’s eyes. 

“ I begin to understand,” she said, in a low tone. 
“ She heard us talking — heard what you said about 
burying her alive. It frightened her into this spell. 
She’ll have brain fever before morning, just from 
the effects of it.” 

“ Brain fever ? ” whispered Herman. “ That will 
serve our purpose in great shape. Come into the 
other room. I’ll give you my scheme.” 

They turned from the poor, sick creature that 
they scared, and went into the next room. 

Once there, with the door tightly closed, the 
young villain unfolded his scheme. 

“ If she has brain fever, she’ll be out of her mind 
— off her chump. I can fix it to have a doctor 
come here who will recommend a change. He can 

The Stolen Laces 3 


34 


THE STOLEN LACES 


work up some gag to get her out of here and in a 
private insane asylum I know of down in Elgin. 
When we get her there, we can mighty easily get 
rid of her — legitimately, too. What do you think 
of it ? ” 

The woman’s beautiful eyes sparkled. 

“ Good,” she cried. “ You are a darling, Her- 
my. You shall have as many kisses as you want.” 

She turned her face up to him again. He clasped 
her in his arms, and pressed her close to him. Pas¬ 
sionately, eagerly, he rained the warm kisses upon 
her lips, her eyes, her exposed throat, his breath 
coming in quick gasps, his face flushed. She put 
him away at last, with a playful rebuke. 

“ That’s enough for once,” she said. “ You must 
not forget yourself, dear. ” 

“ I always forget myself when I am with you,” 
he returned. 

“ Wait until this is all over with, then I shall not 
forget you.” 

“ I will have the doctor here in the morning. I’ll 
have it fixed so he will be the one who does the 
prescribing. It may be a delicate job, but I’ll get 
there. I’ve got your promises to work for ; they’re 
worth a good deal to me.” 

“All right, my favorite 'son.’ Be careful to¬ 
night, and don’t fail in the morning.” 

She opened the door. The young man hurried 
out and down the stairs, while the woman returned 
to her lounge, and, throwing herself upon it, mut¬ 
tered: 

“ He will do it; I have worked him just right. 


ABDUCTED 


35 


Claypole can’t find any fault with this night’s work. 
I need not tell him of the kisses. I like to kiss 
Hermy anyway. His lips are so soft and warm, 
his embraces so passionate and eager. Ugh ! He 
sends a thrill right through me. I might grow to 
think a great deal of him, and, perhaps, favor him 
still more. It won’t do any harm. But revenge 
first. Sweet revenge, good money, and then fare¬ 
well to all this life of danger. But until then, it 
must be as it now is.” 

She rose, disrobed slowly, turned down the gas, 
and, with a womanly shiver, crept into bed. 


CHAPTER VI. 

ABDUCTED. 

At a quarter past eight on the following morn¬ 
ing, Mrs. Frelinghuysen looked in at the dining¬ 
room door, with an expression anything but 
amiable. The boarders had nearly all eaten their 
morning meal nearly an hour before, and had gone 
to their business houses. I said, nearly all had 
eaten. I might say, all had eaten — with the one 
exception of Miss Goggles. 

This estimable lady seemed to be unusually late 
this morning. Never what might be termed an 
early riser, she had had several battles with the 
landlady upon the subject of getting down to her 
morning meal at a late hour. And, to do the 
maiden lady justice, her sharp tongue had ever 



36 


THE STOLEN LACES 


worsted her portly adversary in these wordy war¬ 
fares. 

“ I pay my board; I shall eat when I get good 
and ready,” she had said. 

To a landlady’s mind, the habit of getting down 
late to the first meal of the day is an unpardonable 
sin. It delays the putting on of the dinner, the 
washing of the dishes, keeps the help from their 
work, and many other things too numerous to 
mention. Mrs. Frelinghuysen had tried everyway 
known to her, to induce, then force Miss Goggles 
to get down in time, but all to no avail. 

When she had adopted a coaxing tone, Miss 
Goggles had smiled, and said: “ Oh, never mind 
me. A cup of coffee, a little piece of steak, a 
biscuit, is all I want.” 

When she had announced, in a frigid manner, 
that the rules of her establishment plainly stated 
that breakfast was from 6:30 to 7:30, and no later, 
Miss Goggles had glanced vinegarly at the pro¬ 
prietress, and answered: “ I am a free woman, not a 
slave. I have nothing to call me up at such an 
hour. Consequently, I shall not get up. Eight 
o’clock is my hour for arising: fifteen minutes later 
I shall eat my breakfast—not one minute sooner.” 
And she had kept her word. 

Then the annoyed landlady had adopted another 
plan; an old one with large and small board¬ 
ing-house keepers. She cleaned off the table, 
leaving Miss Goggles’ plate, cup and saucer in 
solitary grandeur upon the table. She kept her 
meat and coffee warm — sometimes not that, and 


ABDUCTED 


3 7 


any one who has eaten beefsteak, kept “ warm ” 
for two hours in an oven, has tasted coffee from the 
bottom of the pot, after being pushed back on the 
top of the stove for any length of time, can 
thoroughly understand how Miss Goggles’ break¬ 
fast had tasted upon the first morning this new 
dodge was introduced. 

But the landlady had reckoned without her host. 
When the maiden lady spied the food and drink, 
she called the waitress, and, in a sweet voice, said: 

“ I don’t believe I care for any steak this morn¬ 
ing, and my physician has ordered me not to drink 
coffee. Just have me a piece of toast prepared; 
and, Kitty, two soft-boiled eggs and a cup of tea. 
Keep the eggs in three minutes, Kitty.” 

Mrs. Frelinghuysen was furious when this order 
was brought out into the kitchen. The work of 
making the toast in itself was greater than that of 
preparing the small piece of steak that Miss Gog¬ 
gles usually ate, and the tea — it had to be made 
fresh, as she never had tea for breakfast. But it 
had to be done, or lose her best paying boarder, 
and, before Miss Goggles arose from the table, 
the clock indicated the hour of half past nine, a full 
half-hour longer than the meal had ever occupied 
before. 

Miss Goggles had eaten her eggs and toast, and 
washed them down with the tea, with a relish. 
From that time on her meal was fit to eat. Still, 
in many ways, the landlady showed her annoyance. 
In sarcastic allusion to the hackneyed saying rela¬ 
tive to the “ early bird, ” etc., Miss Goggles blandly 


38 


THE STOLEN LACES 


replied, that, if the worm had remained in its bed 
until a later hour, the bird would have gone hungry. 
A woman of ready wit and sharp tongue was Miss 
Henrietta Goggles. 

And so matters stood. For this reason the 
expression of Mrs. Frelinghuysen’s face would 
have soured sweet milk, as she looked in at the 
dining-room door this particular morning. 

Kitty was standing arranging some dishes upon 
the sideboard. 

“ Hasn’t Miss Goggles eaten her breakfast yet? ” 
the landlady inquired, in a sharp tone. 

“ No, ma’am, not yet.” 

“ Fine time of day to eat—quarter past eight. 
She gets later and later every day. She will at 
last wind up by coming down at dinner time.” 

“ Yes, ma’am; I suppose so,” answered Kitty. 

“ I can’t stand this much longer,” fretted the 
landlady, bustling about the room. “ I really 
believe she does it just to annoy me. Oh! what 
a woman has to stand when she keeps boarders. 
There’s Mr, Jobson, who scolds his wife; and Mrs. 
Claypole, whose actions are growing more scan¬ 
dalous every day. That young Herman was here 
again last night.” 

“ Yes, ma’am. ” 

“ Her old fool of a husband hasn’t got an atom 
of sense, or he’d stop it. Between them all, it is 
enough to drive a woman frantic. I sometimes 
think I’m going crazy.” 

“ Yes, ma’am,” spoken innocently. 

The landlady turned angrily upon her servant. 


ABDUCTED 


39 


" Do you mean to say you think I’m going crazy? ” 
she demanded. 

“ Oh, no, ma’am. I didn’t say anything.” 

“ People sometimes mean a great deal without 
saying much. Has she been called yet? ” motion¬ 
ing to Miss Goggles. 

“ She generally gets up without callin’, ma’am. 
I will go up to her room, if you want me to.” 

“ Do so. Just kindly inform the lady that we are 
supposed to have dinner at twelve, and it is now 
half-past eight.” 

“Very well, ma’am;” and Kitty hurried out of 
the room to deliver this delicate little sarcasm on 
the part of her mistress to the lady above. 

In a moment Mrs. Prelinghuysen was startled at 
hearing the girl screaming in the hall above. As 
quickly as possible, she ran up the stairs, to find, 
upon her arrival, Mrs. Claypole standing in her 
doorway, a novel in her hand — Mrs. Jobson bend¬ 
ing over Kitty, who was upon her knees before 
Miss Goggles’ half-open door, her apron over her 
head, sobbing and screaming. 

“ What is the matter with you? ” demanded Mrs. 
Frelinghuysen, sternly. 

“ Oh, Miss Goggles! poor Miss Goggles! I think 
she is dead! I couldn’t see her breathe.” 

The landlady brushed past the girl into Miss 
Goggles’room. At the first glance she thought 
Kitty was right, but, upon a closer examination, 
she found the lady only in an unconscious state. 

“ Stop that noise, and run for a doctor,” com- 


40 


THE STOLEN LACES 


manded the mistress. “ She is not dead; but she 
must be pretty sick, poor dear.” 

All animosity gone now. 

It is so with some women. 

Easily aroused to pettish anger from the most 
trivial causes, equally as easily forgotten when 
sickness or trouble comes to the cause of it. 

Mrs. Frelinghuysen was one of those women 
who spoke with a sharp tongue, but whose heart 
was as good and generous as any one’s living. 
She inwardly reproached herself for her treatment 
of Miss Goggles in the past, and mentally resolved 
to refrain from it in the future. 

“ She can eat her breakfast at eleven o’clock if 
she wants to, if she’ll only get well,” she mur¬ 
mured. 

Mrs. Jobson and Mrs. Claypole stood by the bed¬ 
side. They both seemed equally as anxious and 
affected as Mrs. Frelinghuysen. 

“ I wonder what made her sick,” ventured Mrs. 
Claypole. 

“ The Lord only knows. She was as well as I 
am this blessed minute last night at tea. She 
enjoyed her tea immensely, poor dear. She actu¬ 
ally ate six cookies. She always did like my 
cookies.” 

Kitty did not wait to be told the second time to 
go for the doctor. Assured that Miss Goggles was 
not dead, her sobs ceased, and she literally flew down 
the stairs and out into the street, nearly upsetting a 
tall, lank individual dressed in black, who was 


ABDUCTED 


41 


standing, a long, narrow bag in his hand, looking 
up at the house. 

“ Careful, young woman,” he admonished, recov¬ 
ering his balance; “ I am not accustomed to being 
struck by a human cannon ball in this manner.” 

“ Excuse me, sir; there is a lady very sick in the 
house. I was going for a doctor.” 

“ Ah; any particular doctor? ” 

“ Missus didn’t say. She only said to hurry for a 
doctor, and I’m going to look for one.” 

“ Look no farther, my pretty maid; I am a 
physician. It is a lucky thing that I happened to 
be passing. ” 

He did not say that he had been waiting for over 
two hours for just this meeting. It was not neces¬ 
sary to do so. 

“ Are you a doctor? ” asked Kitty, looking at his 
lank form dubiously. 

“ I am Doctor Hutchinson, at your service. If 
you need my services, I am here; and we had better 
hurry, or you may not need them.” 

He spoke significantly. 

“ What do you mean, sir? ” cried Kitty, alarmed 
by his words. 

“ If the patient is very ill, she may die while 
you are wasting precious time here. If it were well 
it were done, it were well it were done quickly,” 
very solemnly. 

Kitty turned pale. 

“ Come right in, sir,” she cried, “ I suppose you’ll 
do as well as anybody,” and she re-entered the 
house, followed by the doctor. 


42 


THE STOLEN LACES 


" A serious case of brain fever,” announced that 
gentleman, after studying the case attentively. 
“ She is in a dangerous condition. I should advise 
extreme quiet, and careful attention.” 

“ She shall have it, doctor,” cried Mrs. Freling- 
huysen. 

“ I believe you, madam. You have the appear¬ 
ance of a good, motherly woman. I know you 
would willingly do all that lay in your power. 
But pardon me if I make a suggestion.” 

“Well, sir, we will abide by your judgment,” 
answered the landlady, flattered by the words of 
the physician. “ What would you suggest? ” 

“ This lady is suffering from a peculiar form of 
cerebral trouble. She should be under the per¬ 
sonal supervision of an experienced physician in 
such affections. She should be removed from 
here, and taken to the house of a friend of mine, 
whom I can recommend. The chances for her 
recovery would be enhanced, and she would be 
removed from the worriment and care that she 
must necessarily be to you. Besides, I may add 
that her disease is contagious!” A deliberate lie, 
told with a straight, solemn face, depending upon 
the ignorance and fear of the woman lor its effect. 
It had the desired effect. To Mrs. Frelinghuysen’s 
mind came the picture of all her boarders suffer¬ 
ing with a horrible brain disease, probably raving 
and maniacal. She uttered a cry of horror, and 
said: 

“ That would be awful. Poor dear. I am sorry 


ABDUCTED 43 

to see her so sick. I don’t like to leave her go; 
but you really think it best, doctor? ” 

“ I would not say so if I did not think so,” 
gravely. 

“ But will it not make her worse to move her? ” 
inquired Mrs. Claypole, in her sweet voice. “ It 
would be said afterward, that she had not advised 
the moving. Consequently the question.” 

“ Not at all,” answered the doctor. “ She has 
not been sick long, is only in the first stage of 
the disease. She can be moved with perfect safety. 
I would not recommend it if it were not so.” 

“ Very well,” and the landlady heaved a deep 
sigh ; “ I will send for a carriage.” 

“ Allow me,” quickly interposed the doctor, “ I 
have a friend who keeps a livery stable. He has 
carriages intended for this purpose, that of moving 
the sick. I will make it my business to go to him. 
I will return with the conveyance.” 

“ How kind of you,” murmured the landlady. 

“ Not at all. I take pleasure in assisting the 
afflicted, particularly the gentle sex. Attend to 
the patient well during my absence. I shall return 
in half an hour;” and, taking his bag, he left the 
room. 

He was as good as his word, even better, for he 
returned in less than the time specified. He did 
not explain that the vehicle was waiting near the 
Union Depot; had been there since early morning. 
Why should he? An explanation of this kind was 
not necessary, and it might possibly damage his 
professional reputation. 


44 


THE STOLEN LACES 


Miss Goggles was bundled up, still unconscious, 
and carried down-stairs and placed in the carriage. 
With a profound bow, and a promise to call in the 
morning and inform the ladies of the condition of 
the patient, the doctor entered the vehicle, and, 
giving a few whispered directions to the driver, was 
soon out of sight. 

He did not seem to fear contagion. He rode 
with the sick lady. Doctors are accustomed to 
these things. 

CHAPTER VII. 

MR. JOHNSON’S FEARS. 

When the boarders came home to dinner, they 
were very much surprised and grieved to hear of 
the events of the morning. 

Mr. Johnson raved and swore. 

“ To think of taking her out of the house,” he 
fumed, “ and she so sick.” 

“But think of the contagion,” remonstrated 
Mrs. Frelinghuysen. 

“ Contagion be d-d! who ever heard of any 

one catching brain fever! The idea is prepos¬ 
terous! ” 

“ But the doctor said it was a severe form of 
— something. I forget what. It sounded dan¬ 
gerous,” ventured the lady. 

“Sounded! Your granny’s night-cap! There 
was no necessity of moving her. If she dies, 
madam, you will be to blame, mind me, you 




MR. JOHNSON’S FEARS 45 

will be to blame, and all because you were a little 
frightened. ” 

The landlady turned pale, and then began to cry. 

“ I thought I wa-as do-ing it for the b-e-s-t,” she 
sobbed. “I didn’t want you all to b-e-e-e sick.” 

“ Never mind, madam,” said Johnson, moved 
at the sight of tears. “ She will probably be all 
right. Where was she taken? ” 

Mrs. Frelinghuysen dried her eyes. For the first 
time she remembered the doctor had not told her 
where he was going to take the sick lady. 

“ I don’t know,” she answered, looking around 
the table upon the faces of all those present. “ The 
doctor didn’t say.” 

Again Mr. Johnson raved. He actually tore 
what little hair he possessed, in agony of spirit, 
mixed with rage. 

“ Didn’t say,” he roared. “ And you didn’t ask 
him. By the great horn spoon, this is too much. 
She might die, be dissected by medical students, 
and we’d know nothing about it,” and he paced the 
floor, his appetite gone. 

“ Perhaps Mrs. Johnson or Claypole heard,” tim¬ 
idly ventured the frightened landlady. She had 
never seen her genial, good-natured boarder like 
this before. 

Mr. Johnson questioned those ladies. They had 
not heard the doctor say anything, except that he 
knew a friend who made brain troubles a specialty. 

" Then, he’s taken her to a crazy house,” cried 
Mr. Johnson. “ He is going to lock her up with 


46 


THE STOLEN LACES 


maniacs. To think of that poor creature among 
raving maniacs. My God! it’s awful.” 

He groaned in his agony. 

The boarders crowded around him with exclama¬ 
tions of pity. 

“ It may not be so bad as that,” said James 
Hadley. 

“No; I feel it.” He recovered himself. His 
kindly eyes sparkled with rage and determination. 
“ Ill go to this fool of a doctor. I’ll demand of him 
his reasons for acting in this unheard-of manner. 
I’ll go to the place where she is kept in confine¬ 
ment, and, if she’s strong enough, I’ll bring her 
back with me.” And the little man looked fiercely 
around the table. 

“ But we are not sure she is in a place of confine¬ 
ment,” murmured Mrs. Claypole. 

u That is so,” answered the balance of the 
boarders. 

But Mr. Johnson stuck to his idea, and declared 
his intentions of starting upon his errand at once. 
He seized his hat and cane, and started for the 
door. Suddenly he stopped: 

“ Who was the doctor? ” he demanded. 

Again surprise and consternation. 

No one knew. 

Mr. Johnson dropped his cane in astonishment. 

“ Don’t know the doctor?” he gasped. “ Why, 
this is preposterous! unheard-of carelessness! Had 
neither of you ladies seen him before?” 

No. None of them had ever seen him before. 

“ Who went for him?” inquired James Hadley. 


mr. Johnson’s fears 47 

“ Yes; who went for him? ” fiercely demanded 
Johnson. 

‘'Kitty,” answered Mrs. Frelinghuysen. 

“ Kitty—where are you?” shouted the man. 

“ Here, sir;” answered the waitress, appearing in 
the door, with the dessert. 

“ What doctor did you bring this morning for 
Miss Goggles?” 

Kitty did not remember his name. 

“ Where did you go for him? ” 

Kitty explained the manner in which she had 
met the doctor. 

“ Passing by the house, eh?” growled Mr. John¬ 
son; “ and you grabbed onto him without asking 
his name or even knowing he was a doctor.” 

“ He told me his name. I forget it. He looked 
like a doctor. He had a medicine bag in his hand, 
just like the doctors carry,” asserted Kitty. 

“ Hum! Then, a medicine bag makes a doctor, 
eh? You might just as well say that a piece of 
meat in a dog’s mouth makes him a butcher. You 
say he told you his name. Try and see if you can’t 
remember it.” 

Kitty did try. At last a light came to her eyes. 
She turned with a smile to the irate gentleman. 

“ I remember now, sir. He said his name was 
Doctor Hutchins — yes, that’s it, Doctor Hutch¬ 
ins,” and Kitty breathed a sigh of relief. 

“ Doctor Hutchins? What Doctor Hutchins. 
There may be twenty Doctor Hutchins in Chi¬ 
cago?’' cried Mr. Johnson with profound contempt. 
He could not understand such carelessness. 


48 


THE STOLEN LACES 


“ He didn’t say, sir, only that his name was Doc¬ 
tor Hutchins.” 

" What kind of a looking man was he? ” 

Mrs. Frelinghuysen described the doctor. 

“ Well, thank the Lord, there is such a thing as a 
directory in Chicago. I’ll hunt up all the Doctor 
Hutchins, and perhaps I’ll find the right one. I’ll 
remember your description of the fellow. It’s a 
wonder you looked at him or can remember how he 
looked after doing so. I suppose it is because he 
was a man. Women like to stare a man out of 
countenance,” and, with this parting shot, Mr. 
Johnson left the room and the house in search of 
Doctor Hutchins. 

It is hardly necessary to state that Mr. Johnson 
did not succeed in his undertaking. He took 
down the address of all the physicians of that name 
in the city, some ten, all told. He visited each in 
succession, .riding from one part of the city to 
another, paying out quite a sum in car fares and 
carriages; how he raved and swore when he was 
delayed by the bridges; how he fumed at the slow 
progress of the street cars; it did not help him 
along one particle, but it relieved his mind. 

Not one of the parties visited answered Kitty’s 
description of the man, and when, at io o’clock that 
night, he entered Mrs. Frelinghuysen’s house, it was 
with a heavy feeling at his heart, a suspicion almost 
amounting to a belief that foul play was at the bot¬ 
tom of it all. He slept but little that night; he 
tossed upon his bed, his mind upon Miss Goggles. 
He began to see how much he loved her. 


MR. JOHNSON’S FEARS 


49 


We never know how much anything is worth 
until it is lost to us. 

When Mr. Claypole had returned from his club 
late that night, he was told of the events of the 
da)' by his wife. 

“ She will not be around to spy on us at any 
rate,” finished the lady. 

“ D-d good thing, too,” answered Claypole, 

lighting a cigar, preparatory to a smoke before retir¬ 
ing. “ You, of course, know where she is?” 

The lady answered, with a smile: “ Perhaps,” 
she said, significantly. 

“ And you’ll tell all these gawks all you know! ” 
mockingly. 

“ Oh, yes, of course; I’m full of those tricks,” 
answered this refined lady. “ How did the gang 
make outlast night?” she asked, suddenly. 

The man looked around nervously; then he 
answered, in a whisper: 

“ Great. Cracked a crib on West Monroe street; 
another on LaSalle. Struck it rich on the West 
Side. Plate, worth $ 5 ,ooo; cash, in a desk, nearly 
$2,000 more. On LaSalle street they got a lot of 
plate, too. It’s safe in my office. This time to¬ 
morrow it’ll be melted down.” 

“ That’s good,” murmured the woman, in a satis¬ 
fied tone. “I hope you’re looking out for our share. ” 

The man pulled down the lower lid of his right 
eye. 

“ Nothing particularly verdant there, I hope,” he 
said. 


The Stolen Laces 4 



50 


THE STOLEN LACES 


“ No. Looks all right. ” 

“ I have no fondness for emeralds — green grass_ 

Ireland, or the 17th of March,” continued the gen¬ 
tleman. “ Too much green about them all. Give 
me the extreme opposite every time — the ripened 
grass, the Orangeman, and the yellow sun — all of 
the color of gold. You twig ? ” 

“ I do. You are witty.” 

“And you are pretty. See, that rhymes — 
pretty and witty. They jingle merrily.” 

“ Like the gold.” 

“Yes; they go well together.” 

“ Like you and me.” 

“ Good. So they do. But enough of these 
pleasantries. The ' gang ’ are going to strike a 
fresh field soon.” 

“ Yes; I know it.” 

“Of| course you do, and you'll work it, too. 
Keep it up with the boys. They’re the stuff. They 
don’t look too closely at a settlement.” 

“ But you must be discreet, Henry. The gang 
are inclined to be suspicious of you. The captain 
told me they were feeling queer about their divvy. ” 

“ The devil he did. When? ” 

“ Last night. ” 

“ So. Well, I’ll go square with ’em awhile then,” 
throwing the end of his cigar in the grate. "It 
will never do for them to queer. It’s too good a 
graft.” 

“ For that reason I spoke.” 

“ It’ll be all right, Ally; I’ll fix it. I’m too old a 


A CLEVER BURGLARY 5I 

bird to befoul my own nest. Come, let us go to 
bed.” 

In fifteen minutes this worthy pair were filling 
the room with the melodious sounds emanating 
from their nasal organs. 

They slept soundly — 

The sleep of the just. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A CLEVER BURGLARY. 

The night was as dark as the pit of Erebus ; not 
a star in the sky; not a ray of moonlight. Officer 
McParland, of the central detail, stood upon the 
corner of LaSalle and Madison streets, and looked 
up at the sky. 

“ This is the night for the boys of the brace and 
jimmy,” he muttered. “Not a star, except the 
ones on the bluecoats, and the lights on the street 
are mighty dim to-night, it seems to me.” 

Boew-w-w whow ! howled the wind around the 
corner, up from the street rose a cloud of dust — 
blinding, black, choking Chicago dust. The officer 
buttoned his coat up about his throat. 

“ And I suppose I’ve got to stand that until morn¬ 
ing,” he growled. “ People talk about the life of 
a policeman. They have such an easy time of it. 
Not much. Lied about by the newspapers, stand¬ 
ing a good chance of getting your head split at 
almost any minute, or perhaps having daylight let 



52 


THE STOLEN LACB6 


into you by some crook with a knife or a gun; 
forced to be out in all kinds of weather; running 
a risk of getting trampled under horses’ feet. No; 

it ain’t so d-d easy, after all. I’d just like to 

have some of these ducks that growl about the easy 
times of policemen on the beat with me to-night.” 

He walked slowly along LaSalle street. Before 
long the roundsman met him. They stood and 
chatted for a few minutes, and then the roundsman 
walked on, and the officer turned the corner. 

No sooner had his back disappeared around the 
corner than three dark figures crept out of the alley 
between Madison and Washington streets, and hur¬ 
ried up the street toward Madison street. 

“We’re all right for an hour,” muttered one. 
“ The * cop * won’t bother us. The crib’s easy. I 
spotted it to-day. I know there’s a cool five 
thousand waiting for us, and all we’ve got to do is 
to force three doors and crack a damper.” 

“ Are you sure, captain? ” asked one. 

“ Sure! Ain’t I always sure, Curly? The gov¬ 
ernor put me onto this. He never makes a break. 
He’s too dead fly to put me onto any snap that 
ain’t right. He wants his own divvy too much for 
that.” 

“ It seems too easy to be square,” muttered 
Curly. 

" You think because some jays puts their dust 
into banks and safes, that every one does it. 
You’re wrong, Curly. Some people believe that 
the more careless you are with dust, the less likely 
you are to lose it. Do you know I found nearly 



A CLEVER BURGLARY 


53 


three hundred under the edge of a carpet once. 
The woman put it there. Some people put their 
stuff in Bibles and prayer-books, in vases on the 
mantelpiece, between the mattresses on the bed, 
and in some of the queerest places you can think 
of. They think a burglar would never look for it 
there. Most of ’em wouldn’t, but I would every 
time. I’ll bet that there is a fortune, yes, two of 
’em, hid away in such places right among the tony 
jays on Michigan boulevard.” 

“ I wouldn’t doubt it,” avers the third one of the 
party, who had not spoken before. 

“ Doubt it? I know it!” asserted the captain — 
none other than the young man Herman. 

“ Do you think the governor is square?” asked 
Charley, as they hurried along Madison street; “ I 
have had my suspicions,” answered Herman. “ I 
spoke to the 1 mother’ about them. I told her 
how we felt. She seemed annoyed, and said he 
ought to be careful. She gave me to believe that 
it was all right. ” 

“ But do you think she's all right? ” inquired 
Curly. “ You don’t know but what she’s working 
us and stands in with the governor.” 

A shadow crossed the boy-captain’s face, only to 
be dispelled the next minute. What caused the 
change? The memory of a woman’s beautiful face; 
a pair of tempting, soft lips pressed to his own. 

“ No. She’s straight,” he answered, conviction 
in his voice. “ And you can depend on her to 
keep the governor straight.” 

“ I hope so. But blow me if I can see some- 


54 


THE STOLEN LACES 


times why we should do all the work and give them 
a divvy,” muttered Charley. 

Herman laid his hand on his shoulder. 

“ See here, Charley — that’s not straight. The 
governor has put us onto many easy snaps. The 
4 mother ’ has given us all good points on daylight 
shop work. The governor’s safe is the best lay- 
ing-in joint I ever saw, and they are worth their 
divvy. If you’ll only stop to think before you 
speak, you’ll see I’m dead right. Hush-h! ” This 
last in a warning tone. By this time the trio had 
reached the corner of Franklin street, and a soli¬ 
tary man was drawing near. They stood on the 
corner talking, for all the world like a party of swell 
young bloods out for a night of it, and soon the 
man passed them, and was lost to sight. 

“ To work now,” muttered Herman. “ I’ll pipe 
the collar. You take the first door.” 

He stood near the curb, glancing up and down 
the street. The movements of the others were 
swift and skillful, bespeaking the experienced 
cracksman. 

In a short time a faint clank was heard. The 
staple on the outside of the door had been forced 
off. 

A peculiar rasping, crunching sound — the noise 
of splitting wood — then Charley whispered: 

“ It’s all right, captain.” 

“ Good.” And Herman started for the door. 
At that moment he saw the glitter of a policeman’s 
star half way down Franklin street. The flash was 
but momentary, as the officer passed beneath the 


A CLEVER BURGLARY 


55 


feeble rays of the gas lamp. Then it disappeared. 

“ Go up and tackle the door at the head of the 
landing. I’ll stay here and steer off the collar! ” 
whispered Herman to his comrades. They 
obeyed him silently, and crept like shadows up 
the stairs. Young Herman had resolved upon a 
bold step. He knew the officer would come and 
try the door, and would be sure to find it forced. 
All would then be lost. They would have to 
either leave their night’s work go, or be captured. 
As quick as thought an idea occurred to him; 
one of those sudden inspirations that come to men 
sometimes. He stepped upon the door-sill, threw 
the door wide open, and, drawing a cigar from 
his pocket, struck a match on the heel of his shoe, 
and lit it. The officer saw the light of the match, 
He perceived the action of the daring young man. 
The next moment he had crossed the street and 
was near the bold burglar. 

“ Good evening, officer,” cried that worthy; 
" not a very pleasant evening at that.” 

" No, d-d unpleasant.” 

“ I suppose it must be for you fellows. I don’t 
think I’d like to be a policeman,” blowing a cloud 
of smoke directly in the officer’s eyes. 

“ No, nor any other sensible man. Too much 
work for the pay. That’s a pretty good cigar,” 
significantly. 

“ Yes, ain’t it? I buy ’em by the box. Have 
one,” producing the smoker. 

The officer took it with thanks. Herman offered 
his own, for the officer to get a light from. 



56 


THE STOLEN LACES 


“ I guess I can risk it,” muttered the custodian 
of the peace, glancing up and down the street. 
Then he lit the cigar. 

“ Ain’t you out rather late, to-night? ” he asked, 
enjoying the cigar. 

“Say rather early this morning,” laughed Her¬ 
man. 

“ You’re right. It’s near three o’clock.” 

“ Yes. I’m kept pretty late. New spring stock 
just in to-day. I’ve been to work unpacking for a 
special order. I’m going home pretty soon now.” 

“ Don’t forget to lock your door,” remarked the 
officer, warningly. “ There’s been lots ofburglaries 
lately.” 

“ Oh, don’t you worry. I’ll lock up all right. I’d 
lose my job if I was to do such a careless thing as 
to leave the door unlocked.” 

“ Ye^, I suppose so. Good night.” 

“ Good night, officer.” 

The policeman continued his beat. With a hasty 
glance after his receding form, the young burglar 
entered the hallway, and whispered up the stairs: 

“ How is it, boys ? ” 

“ All right. We’re through number two. ” 

“ Spring your glim now. It’s safe.” 

“ Copper gone ? ” 

“ Yes. I steered him.” 

He returned to his position in the door, watchful 
as a hawk, his keen ears and eyes on the alert. 
Assuring himself that everything was all right, he 
pulled to the door, and noiselessly ascended the 
stairs. His partners were forcing the last door 


A CLEVER BURGLARY 


5 7 


— one opening into an office facing the street. 
Creak — crik — crack — queak ! The door was 
open, and they hurried into the office. 

“ That door needs some oil,” commented Charley, 
as they crossed the threshold. 

The captain made no answer. He was too full of 
business to think of anything else. 

“ There is the damper,” he remarked, in a whis¬ 
per, pointing to a table with a drawer in it. 

“ That’s only child’s play,” answered Curly. 

A twist of the jimmy, and the drawer was 
open. 

Five packages of greenbacks, each marked 
$1,000, lay before them. As quick as thought 
Herman transferred the packages from the drawer 
to his pocket. They then started to leave the 
room. They reached the hallway, when, suddenly, 
to their experienced ears, came the sound of a 
footstep on the stair 

“ Douse your glim,” whispered Herman. 

Charley, who was holding the dark-lantern, 
turned on the slide, with a quick movement. 

“ Come quick,” commanded Herman, and, like 
three dark shadows, they glided along the hall 
toward the rear of the building. 

The cause of this interruption was the officer 
who had been but recently thrown off the track by 
Herman. As he walked along the street, his mind, 
ever suspicious, began to go over what had been 
told him. 

“ Spring goods! ” he muttered. “ D-d queer 

time to unpack spring goods. Besides, now I come 



58 


THE STOLEN LACES 


to think of it, there ain’t no dry goods house in that 
block. That young feller was givin’ me a guy. 
I’ll go back and investigate.” 

So he returned. Arriving at the door, he found 
it closed. But, upon flashing the light of his dark- 
lantern upon it, he discovered the signs of the 
burglars’ entrance. 

“Cracked, by G—d!” he muttered. Without 
a moment’s hesitation, he hurried up the stairs, 
the sound of his footsteps being heard by the 
daring young cracksmen, who, scarcely breathing, 
crouched behind a large dry-goods box used by 
the janitor to put the dust and waste paper of the 
building in, when he swept at night. They saw 
the light of the lantern flashing along the hall; 
then they heard his footsteps as he went into the 
front room. 

“ Now’s our time,” whispered Herman, and with 
the swiftness of an arrow he crossed the interven¬ 
ing space between his hiding place and the stair¬ 
way, closely followed by his companions. 

They started down the stairs, when-, unfortu¬ 
nately, Charley dropped his jimmy. 

Crash! it sounded upon the floor. 

“ Make a run for it,” cried Herman. 

“ No use of care now. The collar will be on us 
in a minute. Damn that jimmy! ” 

They literally flew down the stairs. They could 
plainly hear the sound of the officer’s hurried foot¬ 
steps. The next minute his lantern flashed down 
the stairs, cutting a wide swath in the darkness 

“ Stop, or I’ll shoot,” cried the policeman. 


THE LACE ROBBERY 59 

“ Shoot and be d-d,” answered Herman, 

jumping down the steps 

Bang! sounded the revolver. 

Zip ! came the bullet, narrowly missing Curly. 

“ That’s d-d close,” muttered Curly, clearing 

the remaining steps with a bound. 

The next moment they were upon the street, 
and running for their lives, toward the bridge. 
Market street was reached in safety ; around the 
corner toward Washington; then they separated, 
and, when officer McParland reached the corner, 
there was nothing to be seen except a cloud of 
impenetrable black dust. 

With an oath, he turned upon his heel. 

“ If I had gone down the hall, instead of up, I’d 
caught them ducks. But a feller can’t go two 
ways at once, and I ain’t got the gift of second 
sight. By G—d! that young feller’s a nervy one. 
He give it to me right. I suppose to-morrow the 
papers will be full of this, and I’ll get another 
rakin’ over. Well, I’ll get something anyhow. 
Now to report the burglary.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE LACE ROBBERY 

SHORTLY after the incident above recorded 
Chicago was startled by a series of bold and 
successful burglaries in the business section of the 
city. 

The perpetrators of those crimes were skillful 





6 o 


THE STOLEN LACES 


workers. They picked out first-class establish¬ 
ments and carted off large stocks of such mer¬ 
chandise as was readily salable. As a rule the 
safes were left untouched, the burglars being 
satisfied with the portable goods in the store. 

Among the victims were Williamson & Graves, 
the hardware merchants on Lake street, who were 
relieved of a valuable assortment of fire-arms, 
knives and tools; Cobb’s Circulating Library, 
which lost a number of expensive books and 
stationery, and Mendelsohn’s lace store on Wash¬ 
ington, near State street. 

The lace store was completely sacked of its 
finest goods. All the imported hand-made laces 
were taken. The burglars left the common grades 
in a state of confusion on the counters, and must 
have spent considerable time in selecting their 
booty. Mr. Mendelsohn estimated his loss at 
about $16,000. 

The store had been entered by the windows 
which opened into an alley in the rear of the 
building. The goods were taken out by the front 
door, which was found open in the morning. 

Of course, those daring robberies caused a com¬ 
motion at police headquarters. No noted cracks¬ 
men weie in the city, and yet the detectives were 
convinced that the burglaries were the work of old 
hands. Several expert criminal hunters were put 
on the case, but they worked diligently for weeks 
without striking the faintest clue. 

The newspapers and public became impatient 
over the delay in capturing the daring burglars, 


THE LACE ROBBERY 


61 


and the central detail came in for a liberal dose of 
censure. 

To make matters more complicated, it was 
openly charged that there had been no burglary at 
the Mendelsohn store, but that the proprietor, who 
was known to be financially embarrassed, had 
,robbed himself to gain the sympathy of the public 
and make easy terms with his creditors. 

Mr. Mendelsohn was greatly annoyed by this 
accusation. He acknowledged that his financial 
affairs were in a desperate condition, but he 
pointed to his past record as incompatible with the 
infamous act of which he was charged. 

His friends admitted everything in regard to 
previous probity, but shrugged their shoulders 
significantly when they were asked to accept it as 
an assurance of present integrity. 

“ The facts are against you,” they remarked. 

“ Burglars do not generally possess the technical 
knowledge to enUble them to pick out the finest 
laces in the excitement of a midnight raid. If your 
store has been despoiled by robbers, where are the 
robbers? ” 

And Mr. Mendelsohn’s inability to produce those 
living proofs of his innocence was regarded as addi¬ 
tional evidence of his guilt! 

Then came an attempt to find Mendelsohn’s 
accomplices, for it was evident that he could not 
have carried out his gigantic scheme of deception 
alone and unaided. 

A hint was received at police headquarters that 
a clerk named Hadley was implicated. The note 


62 


THE STOLEN LACES 


conveying the hint was written in a delicate female 
hand. It read: 

To the Chief of Police. 

Dear Sir —Watch James Hadley, clerk in Mendelsohn’s store, 
about those stolen laces. Perhaps some of his lady friends are sport¬ 
ing a portion of the goods. At any rate, you can take the hint for 
what it is worth. 

One Who Suspects. 

The detectives did take the hint. For a week or 
two Hadley was constantly shadowed, and his lady 
acquaintances were subjected to a rigorous espion¬ 
age, which, had they been aware of it, would have 
thrown them into hysterics. 

Hadley’s fiancee, the beautiful daughter of a 
wealthy lumberman, wore some handsome laces at 
church one Sunday. The following day her father 
received a visit from a stranger, who poured poi¬ 
son into his ear concerning his prospective son- 
in-law. The stranger was promptly kicked out of 
the office, but, when the lumberman’s daughter 
admitted that evening that the laces were the gift 
of Hadley some months previous, the old gentle¬ 
man waxed angry, and told her to throw them in 
the fire. 

There’s something wrong about the fellow,” he 
cried: “ Clerks cannot afford to buy such expensive 
gew-gaws. Perhaps he helped Mendelsohn to rob 
himself. ” 

And Hadley was beside himself with grief, when, 
the next morning, a district messenger brought 
him a parcel containing the laces and other presents 
he had made to his sweetheart, together with a 
note blotted with tears, stating, in simple but ex- 


THE LACE ROBBERY 63 

cruciating terms, that her heart was broken, and 
that they must part forevermore. 

He stood and gazed upon the tear-stained note 
with eyes of wonder; perhaps one might have 
detected suspicious moisture in his own honest 
eyes. 

“ Part forevermore," he gasped. 

“ Her heart broken, and by my action. What 
can she mean ? And all of my presents returned — 
all these laces which I have paid for out of my 
own earnings. What can it mean?" Then the 
suspicion came to him that perhaps he was thought 
guilty of the robbery, or in some way knew of it. 

The thought caused him to turn pale. “ Can 
this be the solution?" he murmured. But who could 
have such a suspicion concerning him. For years 
he had been a trusted and faithful employe; had 
even been intrusted with large sums of the firm’s 
money. It could not be possible that Mr. Men¬ 
delsohn himself thought him guilty, and had in 
some way conveyed his suspicions to his darling. 
No; that was out of the question; for, if the pro¬ 
prietor had had any such idea, he would have at 
at least discharged him from his employ; probably 
had him arrested. 

Again, people said that Mendelsohn had robbed 
himself. So that idea was fallacious. 

“ At any rate," he murmured, doing up the 
parcel, and putting it carefully away, “ it will do no 
harm to speak to Mr. Mendelsohn. Perhaps he can 
give me some explanation to this mysterious affair." 

He sought the unfortunate victim of the burglar’s 


64 


THE STOLEN LACES 


hand; found him sitting moody and abstracted in 
his private office. 

“ Can I speak to you a moment, Mr. Mendel¬ 
sohn?” he inquired, respectfully. 

“ Oh, it is you, Hadley. Yes; come in. It will 
do me some good to have a talk with some one. 
My mind is continually dwelling on my misfor¬ 
tunes.” 

“ It is a sad thing, sir.” 

“ Sad. It is awful. It is not bad enough that 
I have been robbed of all my most valuable stock, 
but they must say that I robbed myself. Think of 
it, James. I, the soul of truth and honor. They 
say I robbed myself. It is too bad, too bad.” 

“ The circumstances of the robbery were suspi¬ 
cious, sir.” 

“ I will admit that, but not so much so but what 
they might be easily explained. For instance, they 
say a burglar could not have had time, in the confu¬ 
sion and excitement of a midnight raid, to select the 
valuable stock from among the rest. Would it not 
have been an easy matter for a woman to have 
come to my store two or three times, and price the 
laces, and then, seeing where they were put, make 
an item of it, and so direct an accomplice? This is 
just as probable as the other; more so, in fact. But 
no; the guilty ones cannot be found, and so it is 
thrown on me. Then, again, they say, 4 If it 
is the work of robbers, where are the robbers? ’ As 
if it were proof of my guilt, because the robbers 
cannot be found. I am not a detective; I am not 


THE LACE ROBBERY 65 

versed in tracking and shadowing, as they term it. 
It is their place to find the robbers, not mine.” 

The worthy gentleman had grown excited in the 
rehearsal of his wrong. His face flushed, his eyes 
flashed. 

“ It will be all right sir,” answered Hadley. 
“ There are good men on the Chicago force; they 
will find the robbers yet. It is on the subject of 
the burglary that I wish to speak. You never for 
one moment suspected me, did you, sir ?” 

The employer fell back, gasping with astonish¬ 
ment. 

“ Suspected you,” he cried. “ Come, you are jest¬ 
ing. You know I never suspected you.” 

“ I did not think you did, sir. But I have an idea 
that some one does.” 

“ You don’t tell me; what has given you such an 
idea?” 

Briefly Hadley told him of the delivery of the 
parcel, showed him the note. 

The employer looked grave. “ There is some¬ 
thing mysterious about this,” he said, gravely. 

“ When did you see your fiancee ?” 

" But two days since, on Sunday.” 

“ She seemed as loving to you then as usual ? ” 

“ Yes, even more so.” 

“ You were on good terms with her father? ” 

“ Very. He always treated me as his equal in 
wealth. Seemed to be proud to think of me in the 
light of a future son-in-law.” 

“ Well, that is strange; there is something at 

The Stolen Laces 5 


66 


THE STOLEN LACES 


the bottom of this. I would give a great deal to 
know. I can give you no explanation, my boy. 
Hardly know how to advise you. But I would 
say — don’t be cast down about this. As you said 
to me but a few moments ago, it will all come out 
all right.” 

His voice sounded cheerful and reassuring. 
James Hadley left his office feeling better in mind. 

On his way to his boarding house that night, a 
stranger accosted him in the street. 

“Are you James Hadley? ” he inquired. 

“Yes, sir; that is my name,” he replied, turn¬ 
ing to the man. 

“ You are employed by Mendelsohn, the dealer 
in laces.” 

“ Yes, sir; why? ” 

“ I hold a warrant for your arrest, Mr. Hadley. 
You are supposed to have been concerned in the 
late lace robbery.” 

Astounded with a feeling of sickening fear, the 
young man staggered back. 

A warrant for his arrest! 

No. He had been right in his conjectures. 
Some one had been at work to ruin his character. 
“ I suppose it is needless to protest my innocence,” 
he said, turning to the detective. 

“ You will be given a chance to prove it, sir.” 

“ Very well. I will go with you. I suppose 
Mr. Mendelsohn is ignorant of this? ” 

“ Of your arrest? ” 

“Yes; my arrest.” 


A MEETING 67 

Yes, he does not know it. It will be known 
in the morning.” 

" Then, by what authority do you arrest me? ” 

“ The authority given me by the law. Young 
man, that gives an officer the power to arrest any 
suspicious character; especially when the proofs 
are so strong against him as they are against you. 
Come, we must be moving.” 

Proofs. Strong against him. 

Ah! this is .strange. 

With a sigh, the young man walked along with 
the detective. 

That night he slept under lock and key. 


CHAPTER X. 

A MEETING. 

The following night a young man, draped in the 
height of the prevailing fashion, might have been 
seen lounging carelessly on the corner of North 
Clark street and Indiana. His handsome face 
caused many of the passers-by to turn and look the 
second time. The diamond flashing upon his 
finger sent out many-colored scintillating rays as 
the light of the gas lamp on the corner reflected 
the closely cut and polished facets. 

He had been waiting for nearly one hour (for his 
attitude was one of expectancy, but poorly con¬ 
cealed under his careless exterior). Every 
approaching female figure he scanned, only to turn 





68 THE STOLEN LACES 

with a gesture of disappointment as they passed 
him. 

“ Will she come?” he muttered, lighting a fresh 
cigar. “ If she fails me to-night, I shall begin to 
think she is not acting straight; is only working me, 
as the boys say. If so, she had better take care. 
I am not much more than a ‘ kid,’ but I have had a 
man’s experience, and I know too much for him. 
Ah, here she comes. I would know that walk 
among a hundred.” 

The cause of this sudden change was the tall 
figure of a neatly draped woman, gliding gracefully 
along the sidewalk. She wore a long cloak which 
covered her dress, and a close veil effectually con¬ 
cealed her features. 

But the waiting lad did not require to see her 
face to recognize her. Every movement of that 
graceful form was known to him. 

“ You have come,” he said, walking along by her 
side. 

“ Yes, and we had better hurry; I have much to 
say to you.” 

“You are nearly an hour late,” grumbled the 
young man. 

“ I had great difficulty in keeping the appoint¬ 
ment at all. I will explain when we are in private. 
You can consider yourself highly honored, young 
man, that I am here.” 

“ I am burning with curiosity,” cried the lad. 
“ Why did you have so much trouble? ” 

“ I cannot explain here; wait till we are alone.” 

They walked along silently for a block, then the 


A MEETING 69 

young man halted, and, opening a door leading 
from the street, next to a beer saloon, said: 

“ This is the place.” 

With a hasty glance along the street, the woman 
quietly entered, and hurried up the stairs, followed 
by her escort. 

“ The first door to the left,” he whispered, as 
they reached the top. The next moment they were 
alone together, and the woman removed her veil, 
disclosing the beautiful face • of Alice Claypole. 
Our readers have already recognized the young 
burglar, Herman, in the waiting man. 

“ Now explain what you meant by your words 
on the street,” demanded the young man. 

" I will, dear; kiss me first.” 

This little act of affection over, the beautiful 
woman sat down upon the rocking-chair in the 
room, and said: 

“ Your note came about half past twelve. Un¬ 
fortunately, Claypole came home to dinner to-day. 
He saw the messenger boy hand in the note at the 
door, saw me read it, and then send an answer. 

“ He was sitting at the table in the dining-room, 
and I was thoughtless enough to leave the door 
open when I went out to the boy. I saw that he 
looked angry as I took my seat at the table, but he 
made no remark until we were alone in our room. 

“ ‘ Who sent you a message? * he asked. 

“ ‘The captain,’ I answered. 

“ ‘ Ha! young Herman, eh? ’ 

“ ‘Yes.’ 

“ ‘ What does he want?* 


70 


THE STOLEN LACES 


“ * He wishes to see me to-night/ 

“ * Well, he can come here, can’t he? ’ 

“ I told him that I had decided not to have any 
of the gang come to my room any more; men¬ 
tioned that it was dangerous; mentioning the cir¬ 
cumstances relating to Miss Goggles, for an exam¬ 
ple. 

“ He walked up and down the room, thinking. 
At last he stopped before me, and said: 

“ ‘ So you have determined upon seeing the boys 
outside? ’ 

“ I told him that I had so decided. 

“ ‘ Very well,’ he said, ‘ I will go with you/ 

“ I saw he looked determined. I knewhisjealousy 
was aroused. 

“ * But is it safe for you to do so?’ I said. 

If it is safe for you, why not for me ? ’ was his 
answer. 

“ ‘ But the gang are suspicious of you. They 
think you are not acting square. It is better for 
you to keep away from them until they feel right 
toward you/ I answered. 

“ He grew very angry. He accused me of many 
things. Said I was in love with you, and, after 
raving on in this fashion for a while, wound up by 
forbidding me to keep my appointment with you 
to-night. Then I grew angry. I told him that 
he was working against his own interests as well as 
mine. I declared that I would keep my appoint¬ 
ment, and he could not prevent me. 

“ ‘ I can’t, eh ! ’ he raved, ‘ you’ll see. Here in 
this house I stay. If you leave it, I will go with 


A MEETING 


7 1 


you. I have been fool enough in the past to allow 
you to pull the wool over my eyes. I have 
tolerated the love-making and familiarity to go on 
between you and these fellows. I did it because I 
thought it was to my interest to say nothing. 
I appear to every one in the house as a stupid old 
dolt; a wronged husband. But by G—d ! it has 
gone too far. You have grown to love this pink 
and white young thief, and your meeting to-night 
is not to plan a fresh stroke or to talk on matters 
of business, but to satisfy the cravings of your 
passion. I will not tolerate it.’ 

“I saw he was in earnest, and set about thinking 
of some way to get rid of him. I resorted to 
sarcasm, tears, everything I knew of. All to no 
purpose. He stuck in the house all the afternoon 
took me down to tea, and made me return to my 
room after it was over. I was nearly frantic with 
suppressed rage. I felt as though I could have 
strangled him, as he sat coolly reading the paper 
before the grate. 

“ The hours rolled by. At last came the time I 
had promised to meet you. Still, he sat before the 
grate. I lay down on the bed, and pretended to 
sleep. At last I saw him searching through his 
pockets. My heart gave a great leap for joy. He 
wanted a cigar. You know he is a great smoker. 
He is miserable without his cigar. I saw that he 
had none. He turned to me: 

“ < Is there any cigars in the room?’ he asked. 
I did not answer, only breathed heavily, as if I 
were sleeping. 


7 2 


THE STOLEN LACES 


“ 'Ally!* he cried, sharply, * is there a cigar about 
the place? ’ 

“ Still I made no reply. 

“ He got up off his chair, and came over to the 
bed, and looked down into my face. 

“ ‘ Asleep, eh! ’ I heard him mutter. ‘ So, I am 
the master. I’ll slip out and get some cigars. I 
can lock her in, and be back in five minutes/ 

“ He suited the action to the words. The next 
moment I heard the key turn in the lock. 

“ I was alone! 

“ Without removing my wrapper, I slipped on my 
cloak, opened the door leading into Miss Goggles’ 
room (which is now vacant), and, fastening on my 
hat and veil as I hurried down the stairs, I slipped 
out, and here I am. So you can see why I was 
late, and what a time I’ve had.” 

“ By George, Ally, you have had a time of it.” 

“ I should say so. But I am afraid he’ll follow 
me. He forced me to show him the note I received 
from you, and, in his fury, he’ll come to the spot. 
If you meet, there will be a scene.” 

Bah! Im not afraid of him. He knows bet¬ 
ter than to .break with me through his jealousy; 

I know too much. I am too good a sucker to him 
to have him throw me over. Why, do you know 
IVeturnedina fortune to him in the past two 
years. It is for you I feel shaky. He might do 
something desperate in his anger.” 

The woman laughed lightly. “ I don’t think he 
will,” she murmured. “ He has too much use for 
me, but we will dismiss this disagreeable subject. 


A MEETING 


73 


You have helped me work out my revenge. Miss 
Goggles is in a private madhouse; James Hadley 
has lost his sweetheart and is in jail—you have 
been faithful,” softly. 

“ I told you I would be,” eagerly cried the 
young man. “ I had something to work for.” 

“ And you shall receive your reward. First, let 
me ask you how are you coming on with the 
stock? ” 

“ The laces and so on? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Between us we have got rid of a good deal of 
it. You know since the boys grew leery of the 
governor, I have kept a lot of the i swag ’ at 
home.” 

“ Yes, I know it; but don't you think you are 
running a risk in doing this? Claypole’s office is 
the safest place.” 

“ Yes, that may be; but I did it to satisfy the 
gang. I have worked off nearly all the stuff we 
had at the governor’s; we will tackle the other 
soon.” 

“ You will act square with us, Herman?” ear¬ 
nestly. 

" Yes, with you; I don’t know about the gov¬ 
ernor.” 

A strange look came to the woman’s eyes. 

" You must give him his share too. Because you 
don’t like him is no reason you should act crooked 
with him. Remember, he has taken big chances to 
help you, has put you onto a good many jobs. 
He must have his divvy.” 


74 


THE STOLEN LACES 


“To hear you talk,^any one would think you 
cared more for him than for the gang—forme/’ 
growled the young fellow, sullenly. 

Now, you show you are only a boy,” answered 
the woman. “ He is my husband. If he should 
find out that you were acting crooked, he could 
exercise his authority, and force me to break with 
you. I don’t wish to have it so. That is the 
reason I speak as I do. As for my love for you, is 
not my presence here to-night convincing proof of 
that? You are ungrateful, Herman.” 

Her words brought the young man to her feet. 

“Forgive me!” he cried. “I spoke without 
thinking.” 

A look of triumph crossed the woman’s face. 

“You have my forgiveness,” she murmured, 
sweetly. “ Only, the next time, think before you 
speak.” 

She tenderly caressed the handsome blonde head 
resting on her knees, and then gently bade him rise. 

For two hours they remained in the room, the gas 
turned low, exchanging vows of love. As they 
descended the stairs the young man whispered: 

“ You will always be true to the gang, Ally? ” 

“ If I should prove i traitress, punish me. You 
have it in your power.” 

No more was said. They reached the street. 

As they passed the corner of Indiana street, a 
man who had been standing on the corner, came 
forward, and confronted them. 

It was lawyer Claypole. 


A MEETING 75 

“ So,” he hissed, “ I've caught you, have I ? You 
fooled me; but I have discovered you.” 

Mrs. Claypole drew her noble form erect. Her 
eyes flashed as she answered: 

“ As you have degraded yourself so much as to 
play the part of spy, you have found out just what 
you expected. I told you I would keep my appoint¬ 
ment. I have proven myself a woman of my word. ” 

“Very well, madam; we will see! You shall 
repent this.” 

“Don’t be a fool,” scornfully answered the 
woman. “ But call a carriage and take me home.” 

With a muttered oath, the husband obeyed her, 
Herman watching him with lowered brows, ready 
to administer castigation if necessary. 

But he was not called upon to do so. Aside 
from his words, the lawyer attempted no other 
punishment. 

As the woman stepped into the carriage, she said, 
lightly, “ Good-night, Hermy. Attend to the 
commission I have intrusted to you to-night, and 
be a good boy.” 

The lawyer stopped, and looked into the hand¬ 
some face of the young man. 

“ And, I might add,” he said, ironically, “ that 
in the future all business arrangements had better 
be conducted in the presence of all hands con¬ 
cerned— not by two people alone in a private 
room.” 

“ All right, governor,” answered the young man, 
lightly. 

And then the carriage drove off. 


7 6 


THE STOLEN LACES 


Standing upon the curb watching it, the captain 
murmured: 

“ Yes, governor, all business arrangements shall 
be. But affairs of love? Ah! we shall see about 
that. If you are not careful, governor, before long 
you may find both the two interested ones missing. 
You will have to find a new wife — the gang a new 
captain. I’ve got money enough. I may as well 
settle down with a charming woman and a little 
country house in the sunny South. I think I should 
be happier, and not run so much risk. Ah, that is 
the only thing in the path of my present business 
prospects — the chances of getting jugged. I’ve 
been pretty lucky so far, but the tide may turn. 
They say every dog has his day. I guess I’m hav¬ 
ing mine now. Well, I’ll take a few more chances. ” 
And, starting briskly up the street, he took a State 
street car and hurried home. 


CHAPTER XI. 

A CLUE. 

There was one member of the city detective 
force who took no stock in the story that Mr. Men¬ 
delsohn was his own burglar. This was Denis 
Simmons, one of the oldest and shrewdest of 
Chicago’s able officers, who for the last seven years 
has been detailed on bank work. 

“ Mr. Mendelsohn,” said Denis to the grief- 
stricken merchant, " don’t worry yourself to death. 


A CLUE 


77 


I am convinced that the robbery was the work of 
professional thieves, and I’m a Dutchman if I don’t 
pinch them before I’m many weeks older.” 

This was the strongest expression Denis could 
use, for everyone knows he is not a Dutchman, 
and wouldn’t be one for any consideration. 

Mr. Mendelsohn was consoled by this expression 
of confidence. 

“I thank you, Mr. Simmons,” he said, with 
emotion. “ I hope Heaven will prosper you in this 
work. If the thieves are not captured soon, I shall 
be ruined body and soul, for even my old father 
in Germany thinks I am the thief.” 

“ Cheer up,” said Denis, encouragingly, “ we’ll 
bag the gang, and then you can take a month’s 
vacation to receive the apologies of your suspicious 
friends.” 

If this were a romance, instead of a story based 
on facts, it would be easy to associate Mr. Simmons’ 
name with some wonderful experience during his 
search for the lace robbers. 

Real detective work, however, rarely possesses 
romantic features. Success in this arduous calling 
is attained as much by patient plodding as by a 
keen appreciation of the habits and methods of 
criminals and a shrewd knowledge of the world. 
Sometimes the most important revelations are the 
result of sheer accident. As straws show the drift 
of a current, so do trivial incidents often guide 
detective skill to the accomplishment of great and 
important ends. 

When Denis pledged himself to “ bag the game,” 


78 


THE STOLEN LACES 


he had not the slightest clue to work upon. Like 
several of his confreres, he believed the robberies 
were committed by New York experts; but he was 
as much puzzled as they were when it was proved 
beyond peradventure that no metropolitan thieves 
of prominence, men who were skilled at this class 
of work, had been in town for months. 

Consequently, Denis had to “ go it blind ” for a 
time, trusting to Providence to furnish him a clue. 
And Providence didn’t shirk this grave duty. 

Two or three days after his conversation with 
Mr. Mendelsohn, the detective was detailed on a 
petty larceny case in a fashionable boarding house 
on Michigan avenue. The job was an easy one, 
and, as he was about to leave the house, a lady 
asked him if he were a judge of laces. 

“ No, madam,” said Simmons. “ Why do you 
ask?” 

" Because I have just made a wonderful bargain,” 
replied the lady. “ I have bought several yards of 
the finest French hand-made lace for one dollar a 
yard. It’s worth at least ten dollars a yard. ” 

“ Indeed ! ” said Denis, his heart giving a great 
bound as he thought of that troublesome robbery 
at Mendelsohn’s. “ Of whom did you buy it? ” 

“Of a peddler — a nice-looking, curly-haired 
young man, wearing a velvet coat.” 

The detective examined the lace, and, although 
not an expert, he had sufficient knowledge of such 
goods to warrant him in the conclusion that the 
peddler was practically giving the laces away. He 
made an excuse to take the " bargain ” down town, 


A CLUE 


79 


and showed it to Mr. Mendelsohn, who immedi¬ 
ately recognized it as a portion of his stolen stock. 

Denis had struck a clue. The description of the 
peddler tallied with that of Herman Landgraff, a 
boy whom he had arrested for sneak-work several 
years ago, and whom he thought was leading a 
correct life. Still, the detective did not think that 
Landgraff was skillful enough to commit the lace 
robbery; the boy was probably the tool of older 
thieves, who had set him to peddle some of the goods 
as the safest means of disposing of them. 

But this was a great discovery, and Simmons was 
elated over it. 

About the same time another detective had his 
attention called to a cheap pocketbook bought 
from a peddler by a broker’s clerk. This pocket- 
book proved to be part of the stock stolen from 
Cobb’s Circulating Library. The peddler who sold 
it answered to the description of Charlie Mott, a 
partner of Landgraff’s, and the brother of Mollie 
Mott, whose thieving propensities and profligacy 
were the talk of Chicago for years. 

“ It never rains but it pours,” remarked Denis to 
his colleague; “ we are on the eve of a great haul.” 

Having got track of a portion of the stolen 
property, Simmons felt that the rest of the work 
was comparatively simple. He soon located Land¬ 
graff and Mott. They lived in an old frame house 
on West Thirteenth street, with Mrs. Landgraff. 

The detective made cautious inquiries as to the 
habits of the boys, and ascertained that they were 
regular night-hawks, as well as street peddlers by 


So 


THE STOLEN LACES 


day. They rarely reached home before daylight, 
and invariably drove up in a buggy, from which 
they carried bundles into the house. 

Another boy, known as " Curly/' often accom¬ 
panied them, and stopped with Mrs. Landgraff for 
days at a stretch. 

As these facts developed, Simmons changed his 
mind about the connection of New York men with 
the burglaries. He had struck an organized gang 
of smart young thieves, who were probably solely 
responsible for the crimes which had startled the 
business community and puzzled the police. 

It was late at night when Denis reported the 
result of his investigation to the chief. He was 
instructed to arrest the lads, but as, by this time, 
they were undoubtedly on one of their marauding 
expeditions, Simmons concluded to swoop down on 
the old frame house in the early morning, and cap¬ 
ture the whole gang. 

Three officers were detailed to assist Simmons, 
and at four o’clock in the morning they drove out 
on West Thirteenth street. Denis talked enthu¬ 
siastically about the importance of this expedition, 
and the praise they would receive for breaking up 
such a daring and dangerous gang of burglars. 

“ It will be one of the biggest things of the 
year, he said, and a splendid feather in all our 
caps.” 

Denis' enthusiasm was infectious. Long before 
they reached the old frame house, his colleagues 
were swelled with the magnitude of their mission, 
and anticipating the glowing accounts of their 


A CLUE 8l 

efficiency and prowess which would adorn the col¬ 
umns of the newspapers. 

The carriage was not taken direct to the house, 
for fear of alarming the inmates. The officers left 
it a block away, and approached on foot. 

Two went to the rear of the building, to inter¬ 
cept any of the boy burglars who might attempt to 
escape that way. 

Simmons and the other officers banged on the 
front door, and loudly demanded admittance. 

Not a sound came from the inside. The place 
was in total darkness, and the loud knocks echoed 
and re-echoed through the hallway without bring¬ 
ing any response. 

" They’re in their first sleep,” said Denis, “ and 
nothing short of Gabriel’s trump will rouse them.” 

“ Let’s kick in the door,” suggested his colleague, 
who was anxious to complete the job. 

“ All right,” said Denis; “ here goes.” 

A few vigorous kicks made kindling wood of the 
doer, and the two officers entered the house, pistols 
in hand, ready for an y resistance on the part of the 
boy burglars. 

The house had an empty ring, and Denis turned 
on his bull’s-eye, to start back in astonishment. 

Not a vestige of’ furniture was to be seen on the 
lower floor. The up-stairs rooms were equally 
bare. The birds had flown. 

“ This is the biggest thing of the year,” said 
Denis’ companion sarcastically. 

Simmons bit his lips and said nothing. The 

The Stolen Laces 6 


82 


THE STOLEN LACES 


officers in the rear of the house were called in. 
They laughed immoderately when they grasped 
the situation. 

And all the way back to the Central Station 
Denis was the target for ruthless jokes, which he 
received without a word, but continued biting his 
nether lip until the blood came. 

He left his brother officers at the station, and 
started out again in grim silence. Before nightfall 
he had the burglarious peddlers located again. 
Mrs. LandgrafF, her son, and Curly had moved to 
a brick house on Archer avenue, near the railway 
station; Mott was traced to a place on Brown street. 

“ You see,” he said, to one of the officers who 
had accompanied on the raid. “ It is a pretty hard 
thing to bag your game when it has flown. A 
man can’t always keep cases on these things; the 
best of us fail sometimes. But I’ve got ’em dead 
to rights this time. There’ll be no second slip-up. 
You fellows all had the laugh on me last night; but 
I’ll turn it on you before long.” 

The officer hastened to square himself with the 
old officer. 

“ Ah, that’s all right,” answered Denis. “ All I 
ask you to do is to think of these things before you 
commence to guy.” 

He soon completed his arrangements for the cap¬ 
ture of the gang. 

Two officers were detailed to capture Mott, while 
Denis took it upon himself to attempt the arrest of 
Herman and Curly, taking only one man with 
him. 


A woman’s love 


83 

“ We can manage them,” he said. “ And, if they 
give us the slip a second time, why, there won’t be 
so many to give us the grand laugh. ” 

So, donning civilian suits, and arming them¬ 
selves well, the two officers started for the house of 
Mrs. Landgraff, on Archer avenue. 

CHAPTER XII. 

A woman’s love. 

LEAVING the gallant detective and his partner on 
their way to capture the young captain and his 
partner, we will return to James Hadley, whom we 
left in durance vile. If any one of my readers has 
ever put in a night in a station-house cell, he wilj 
know how to sympathize with the unfortunate 
young man. 

James Hadley had never been in a station house 
before, and his heart sank in his breast as he stood 
before the house-sergeant, gave his name and resi¬ 
dence, and allowed them to search him. 

His agitation was further increased when he was 
conducted to his cell and heard the iron-grated 
door close behind him with a bang._ 

He managed to sleep a little during the night, 
short snatches of slumber, rudely interrupted 
several times by the arrival of the turnkey with a 
prisoner in tow; and, as this was of frequent 
occurrence, his sleep was not very refreshing. 

In the next cell, on his right, was confined a 


84 


THE STOLEN LACES 


young fellow who had been found drunk on Clark 
street, and was brought in for making night hideous 
with obscene songs, sung in a loud voice. This 
interesting personage still persisted in indulging in 
musical eccentricities, and, as he was very drunk, 
and his voice was extremely out of tune, his vocal 
efforts were remarkable only for their vileness. The 
turnkey tried to stop him, in vain, and so the 
inmates of the other cells were obliged to put up 
with it. 

The last time the turnkey came to the cell the 
singer cried out, in a maudlin tone: 

“ If you don’t like it, put me out.” t 

A woman occupied the cell upon his left. She 
had been picked up on Clark street for some offense. 
During the livelong night she kept repeating words 
to the effect that, “ She was a lady! She’d show 

the-in the morning if they could 

insult her. Her Charley would mash their - 

-noses for ’em. She’d show ’em,” and so on. 

Opposite Hadley’s cell the gas burner flickered. 
The window being open near it, the gentle wind 
caused the flame to gently wave from side to side, 
casting fantastic shadows upon the wall. He sat 
and watched it, praying for morning, till he fell 
asleep. When he awoke the gray dawn was steal¬ 
ing in at the window. He was taken out of his 
cell and transferred to the county jail. 

He [found this change more acceptable. He 
could have the privilege of being alone, at any 
rate. He sat upon the edge of his cot, and gave 
himself up to bitter thoughts. Would they find 



A WOMAN’S LOVE 85 

him guilty, what proofs could they have against 
him, etc., etc. 

The noise of the cell door opening aroused him. 

“ A lady to see you,” gruffly announced the 
keeper. The next moment the beautiful face of 
Ophelia, his affianced, appeared at the opening. 

“ Oh, James,” she sobbed. “ You here?” 

He did not answer at first. His heart was too 
heavy. A feeling of shame crept over him—that 
this gentle girl, whom he loved so well, should see 
him in a prison cell. 

“ Yes, I am here;” he said, at last. “ Here — 
an innocent man behind prison bars.” 

“ It is awful,” cried the girl, trying to check her 
tears. “ I read of your arrest in the Herald . My 
heart nearly stopped beating as I read the account. 
Pa saw it, too. He got very angry when he read 
it. 4 See what you have been keeping company 
with,’ he said. * A thief!’” 

The hot blood surged to the young man’s face. 

“ Do you think me a thief?” he asked, sternly. 

“ No— no—James! Don’t look at me so sternly. 
If I believed you guilty, do you think I would have 
braved pa’s displeasure and anger to have come to 
you?” 

The young man felt reproached. “No, darling,” 
he said, sadly. “ But I did not know. You re¬ 
turned me all my presents. You wrote me that we 
must part forever. ” 

“ Pa forced me to do that. I meant to write you 
another note and explain it all.” 


86 


THE STOLEN LACES 


“ Then, you do not wish to part from me,” he 
cried, eagerly. 

“ No, James; I love you.” 

“ God bless you for that. Do you know, Ophelia, 
my heart came near breaking when I read your 
cruel note. I felt as if there was nothing left me 
to live for. I actually believe I should have taken 
my own life.” 

“ Don’t talk that way, James. You frighten 
me,” cried the girl, with large, frightened eyes. 

“ It’s all right now,” answered the lover, reassur¬ 
ingly. “ Your bright presence has dispelled the 
clouds of doubt. I feel myself a man again. But 
why did your father make you return me the pres¬ 
ents I had given you? ” 

“ Curiously, a strange man came to see him on 
Sunday. He had seen me with you at church on 
Sunday, and saw the lace around my neck, which 
you had given me some time ago. He must have 
made pa believe you had stolen it; for, after he had 
dismissed the man (he actually kicked him out of 
his office), he sent for me, and sternly commanded 
me to return you all your presents, saying: ‘A 
young clerk cannot afford to buy such costly laces, 
he must have stolen them. I guess he knows 
something about the lace robbery. Perhaps he 
helped Mendelsohn out himself.’” 

“ Did he say that ? ” 

“ Yes; he must have been influenced by what he 
had been told. I tried to reason with him, but you 
know how set pa is when he once gets a notion in 


A . WOMAN’S love 87 

/ 

his head. Your arrest seemed to fasten the idea 
more firmly in his mind.” 

“ My God! How can it be possible, and he 
knowing me so well ? ” the young man groaned, in 
his anguish. 

“ Don’t feel badly, James, dear. You did not 
steal the lace, and you can prove your innocence. 
Then pa will apologize to you for even suspecting 
you. ” 

“ I don’t know that I shall accept his apologies. 
He has wronged me in his heart.” 

“ But you must, James. You want me, don’t 
you.” 

“ Yes, my darling.” 

“ Then, you must get on good terms with pa 
again. I should not like to do anything to cause 
him sorrow. He is my father, James.” 

14 And you will allow him to stand in the way of 
your heart’s happiness? ” 

“ No, James. I don’t think pa would do that, 
anyhow. He loves his little girl, and thinks he is 
justified in acting as he has done.” 

“ He may never give his consent to our marriage 
now,” muttered the young man, gloomily. 

“ And why not, pray?” 

“ I have had the disgrace of having my name in 
the papers, suspected of being a thief. I have been 
confined in a prison cell. 

44 Do you think my father would be so unjust as 
to refuse you my hand because you have been 
unfortunate? No. The same might happen to 
any one. Men have been hung purely on circum- 


88 


THE STOLEN LACES 

stantial evidence. You are the victim of the same. 
When your innocence is proven to the world, you 
can then face my father and demand my hand, and 
he will not refuse you, James/’ 

“ I hope it may be as you say,” answered the 
despondent lover. “ But, if he should not. If he 
should spurn me from his door, refuse you to me.” 

Then, dear, I shall remember that I am of age. 
I shall marry you at any rate!” 

You are an angel,” rapturously cried the young 
man. You have made my heart light again. 
You say you will be my wife at any rate.” 

Yes, but not against my father’s wishes, unless 
he is unjust and cruel to you. As I said before, he 
is my father. I love him dearly. I should not like 
to do aught to cause him sorrow; but you are my 
heart’s first love; to you goes out all the true affec¬ 
tion of my heart; I shall become your wife.” 

He kissed herhands through the grating, passion¬ 
ately, ardently. 

“ And my innocence shall be proven,” he cried. 

I shall pray that it will be soon,” answered the 

girl. 

Time s up,” announced the keeper. 

A kiss through the grating, and the girl had gone. 
The door of the cell was clanged to, but the sur¬ 
roundings seemed brighter to the young man. 
Love had left its radiant presence in his despondent 
heart. An angel had swept away his doubts and 
fears. He felt happy, almost gay. He felt that he 
would be proven entirely innocent, that his arrest 
was a mistake ; an act of a zealous minion of the 


the attack upon the house 89 

law, anxious to throw some light on the mysterious 
robbery which had puzzled all the authorities. 

“ God bless her,” he murmured, pacing his cell. 
“ Now I love her, and she will be mine in spite of 
all. She is a true little woman, and I am the lucki¬ 
est man alive. ” 

He surprised his keepers at the amount of food 
he ate that day. 

“ Our lace thief has developed an appetite,” 
remarked one. 

“ Perhaps his girl brought it to him,” said another. 

He struck the nail on the head. The gentle 
maiden had brought it. 

Verily, love makes the world go round, and 
brightens it, turning the darkness of the night of 
despair into the bright day of joy ; this radiant, 
brightly shining sun of a woman’s love. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE attack upon the house. 

Silence most profound reigned, as Simmons 
and his partner approached the two-story brick 
house where the detective had located the captain 
of the gang, his mother and chum. 

Not far off a long line of freight cars marked the 
location of the railway, the station standing out 
boldly and distinctly. Not a light was to be seen 
in the house; not a sign of life. 

“ I wonder if they’ve given me the slip a second 


90 


THE STOLEN LACES 


. time, ” muttered Denis. “ I believe the boys would 
never get through guying me if it was so.” 

“ No,” cried his partner; “ you’re right this time. 
See, on rhe second floor, a light shining out through 
the blinds.” 

Simmons followed the line of his pointing finger. 
Yes, his partner was right. Through the chinks of 
the blind a light was shining. It could not be seen 
twenty feet away from the house, but was plainly 
visible to them as they stood close to the building. 

“ You go to the rear of the house,” whispered 
Denis. “ See that they don’t get away by that 
means. I’ll go to the front door.” 

The officer (Davis by name) nodded his head in 
reply, and was soon lost to sight in the darkness. 
Denis knew, if he wanted him, his whistle would 
bring him. Giving Davis time to reach his post, 
Denis walked toward the door, and gave a vigorous 
knock on the panel. There was no bell-knob vis¬ 
ible. The sound of some one moving about up¬ 
stairs, then the creaking of the shutters on their 
rusty hinges, and a female voice inquired: 

“ Well, what’s wanted? ” 

“ Does Mrs. Landgraff live here? ” 

“ Suppose'she does? what then? ” 

“ I want to see her.” 

“ Look right up here, and you’ll see her.” 

The detective had already been looking up. He 
saw the wrinkled face of the woman. 

“ No nonsense,” he cried, sharply. “ I am here 
on particular business. I haven’t any time to fool 


THE ATTACK UPON THE HOUSE 


91 


away. If you are open for a trade, I’ve got a good 
one.” 

“Ah, have you,” cried the woman, mockingly. 
“ Well, ain’t you kind to come way out here on 
such a dark night too, just to do business with a 
poor old woman. I feel so gratified to you. So 
much obliged. ” 

The detective saw she had no faith in his words. 
But he determined to try and convince her 

“ Don’t be a chump, Mrs. Landgraff,” he cried. 
“ I know you, and my business. I have got some¬ 
thing for you, and have gone to some trouble to 
find you.” 

“ Ah, have you; well, well. Did you ever 
hear about putting salt on a little bird’s tail? My 
mother used to tell me to do that to catch ’em. 
No, no, my good man. I am too old a bird. You 
can’t catch me, even if you use sugar instead of 
salt. ” And, with this remark, she drew to the shut¬ 
ters, and left Denis staring at the place where she 
had been. 

Our good friend possessed, among other things, 
a temper. He knew it well, and also realized the 
truth of the old saying, “ A flurried man lacks 
wisdom.” Believing this, he had ever tried to 
keep his temper, but the action of the woman 
aroused his anger. 

“Infernal old hag!” he muttered. “I’ll teach 
her to fool with me. If I can get the slightest hold 
on her, I’ll pull her too,” and he applied his foot 
vigorously to the door. 

The window opened suddenly. 


92 


THE STOLEN LACES 


“ Splash,” came a bucket of water down upon 
his devoted head, and then the window closed 
again. 

“Whew! damn it,” sputtered the detective, 
wiping the water from his face and out of his eyes. 
“ She’s a devil. I’ll smash the door in,” and with 
feet and billy he tried to put his threat into execu¬ 
tion. The door was old; soon the lower panels 
gave way, and Denis crept into the hall. Quickly 
producing his dark lantern, which was already pre¬ 
pared, he flashed it up the stairs. No one in sight; 
the woman had not shown herself, even when she 
heard his forcible entry. Taking two stairs at a 
time, the zealous detective sprang toward the 
second floor; he reached it. The door of the front 
room opened and Mrs. Landgraff appeared, hold¬ 
ing a smoking lamp. 

“ What do you want,” she demanded, angrily. 

“ Never mind, stand out of my way; I’ll soon 
show you what I want,” and he attempted to pass 
her. * 

“ You must be anxious to see me, when you 
smash in my door to get to me.” 

“ Stand out of the way.” 

“ I won’t do it; I’m a poor, harmless old woman, 
and you have no right in my house. ” 

“ Haven’t I? what do you think of that? ” flashing 
his star in her eyes. 

“ A copper,” she gasped. 

He threw her aside, and entered the room. 

It was empty, although two chairs drawn up 
before the stove gave evidence of some one hav- 


93 


THE ATTACK UPON THE HOUSE 

ing been there but recently, and the smell of cigar 
smoke gave further proof that the parties had been 
of the male sex. 

But they were not to be seen when Simmons 
entered the room. With a cry of baffled rage, he 
flashed his lantern under the bed, into the closets; 
no one in sight. 

“ You look as if you expected to find some one,” 
remarked the woman, mockingly. “ You don't 
want to see me particularly, then? ” 

“ Where are they, woman? ” he demanded. 

“ Who? ” innocently. 

“ Your son and his partner.” 

“ My son Herman? Oh, he is working on the 
Tribune at night. He is never at home nights.” 

“ You lie ! Do you hear? You lie. He was in 
this room when I knocked on the door first. He 
is hiding somewhere.” 

“ If you think so, why don’t you hunt for him, 
instead of standing here talking to me. You can 
look all over the house, now you’re in. It won’t 
make much difference.” 

“ I’ll do it, by God. I’ll tear down your house 
about your ears but what I’ll find them.” And he 
darted out into the hall. 

At that moment he heard his partner’s whistle 
blowing shrilly. 

“ Ah, he’s got ’em,” he cried, and started for 
the stairs. 

The woman, hearing his words, threw herself 
upon him, her arms about his neck. 


94 


THE STOLEN LACES 


“ You shall not arrest him,” she shrieked. “ I will 
hold you here and prevent you.” 

“ Take your arms from around my neck,” 
growled the detective firmly. 

But the old woman only screamed the louder, 
hung on the tighter. 

“ She’ll have the whole ward around the house 
soon with her screams,” muttered Denis. The 
sound of the whistle still came to his ears. With 
an effort he threw the woman from him, and 
sprang down the stairs. Unlocking the door, he 
rushed out of the house around the corner toward 
the rear. In the semi-darkness he , saw Davis 
hanging on to a struggling man with one hand, 
while with the other he was holding his whistle to 
his lips. 

“ I thought you would never come,” gasped 
Davis, as he saw Denis approaching. 

“ I couldn’t get away from the old woman, con¬ 
found her. Let me see, who have you got here ?” 

“ A fellow who came running out of the house.” 

Denis flashed his lantern in the face of the cap¬ 
tain. 

“ Ah! it’s you, is it, Curly? Well, we’ve bagged 
one of the gang. I know this promising youth. 
Now, where’s the other? ” 

“ This is the only one I saw come out,” answered 
Davis. ' ^ 

“ Then, the other one must be in the house yet. 
You hang on to Mr. Curly. I’ll investigate the 
back stairs.” 

So saying, the detective pushed open the gate, 


THE ATTACK UPON THE HOUSE 9$ 

and walked toward the back entrance to the house. 
The door was wide open. Not a sound could be 
heard in the house. Far off in the distance came 
the faint whistle of a locomotive. A train was evi¬ 
dently approaching on the railway, a train that 
would stop at the Archer Avenue Station. The 
detective paid no attention to this; he had other 
thoughts to occupy his mind. 

He entered the door. 

At the same moment he was struck full in the 
face by a fist of iron, it seemed, and a dark form 
glided past him. The suddenness of the blow dis¬ 
concerted the gallant detective. He had not been 
expecting anything of the kind. The blow was a 
hard one, and took him right between the eyes. 
“ I’ll have a pair of eyes on me in the morning,” 
was the thought that flashed through his mind. 
Bang! sounded a pistol shot. “ Davis is giving it 
to him,” he muttered, springing toward the gate. 

Another shot was fired as he appeared upon the 
scene. To his consternation, he saw his partner 
alone, firing his revolver after two forms running 
toward the road. 

“ What’s the matter? ” he cried. 

“ The other fellow came out, and helped his part¬ 
ner The two of ’em downed me,” answered Davis, 
shamefacedly. 

“ The devil they did! After them! They can’t 
get far away. We’ll have ’em yet.” 

They ran toward the road. The train could be 
seen approaching the station as they reached it. 


96 


THE STOLEN LACES 


And, to their consternation, they saw the two boys 
running toward the station. 

“ If they get there as soon as the train does, 
they’ll give us the slip,” muttered Denis, through 
his set teeth. 

Davis made no reply, but his brow grew darker, 
and he increased his speed. 

With a puff and a ringing of the bell, the train 
stopped. The escaping ones have nearly reached 
the station. The whistle of the locomotive sends 
forth a shrill shriek, and the train begins to move 
out. 

“ They won’t catch it,” cried Denis, joyfully. 
“No; by God, they’re going to chance getting 
killed; they’re going to jump on.” And he gasped 
with horror, for he saw the two young thieves 
make a desperate effort, and clutch the rail of the 
last car, just as the train rolled by. First one, 
then the other — the train going at a brisk rate of 
speed. 

“Damn it!” cried Denis, “they’ve got off in 
spite of us — more laugh — more guy! But I 
wouldn’t have taken the chances those boys did for 
anything.” 

Moodily they turned away. Suddenly Denis 
stopped. His eyes flashed. 

I must not go back to the station without those 
boys, he cried. And I think I know of a way 
to catch em.” 

“ How?” cried Davis, eagerly. 

“ Come along,” answered Denis. “ I don’t want 
to lose any time. I haven’t much time to lose. 


A CONJUGAL DIFFERENCE 


97 


I’ll tell you as we go along. I may be wrong in 
my idea, but I think I am right. Anyhow, there 
won’t be any harm done in trying; it.” 

CHAPTER XIV. 

A CONJUGAL DIFFERENCE. 

Henry Claypole remained silent and moody 
during the drive home; his better half, the lovely 
Alice, not seeming to notice him, but glancing out 
of the window in an unconcerned manner. She 
knew he would break out before he slept that night, 
but did not give herself any uneasiness on that 
score. She felt herself able to hold her own against 
his attack. A feeling of elation pervaded her mind. 
She had outwitted him, and felt proud of it. The 
house was reached, the driver paid, Mrs. Claypole 
running lightly up the steps while her husband/ 
performed this very necessary act. Af'the door 
she was obliged to wait. He had the key, and she 
could not enter the house. 

He came silently up the step, inserted the night- 
key in the door, and admitted her; performing 
the same function at the door of the room. 

She entered carelessly, turned up the gas, which 
was burning low, removed her hat and cloak, and 
then sat down at the piano, and idly struck the 
keys. 

“ You’ll wake every one in" the house,” he 
growled. 

The Stolen Laces 7 


98 


THE STOLEN LACES 


“ Since when have you grown so solicitous regard¬ 
ing the comfort of the inhabitants?” she retorted. 
He advanced toward the piano, and seized her 
wrist, then closed down the lid with a bang, and 
said: 


“ Never mind bringing sarcasm into play,” he 
muttered. “ I want to talk to you. ” 

“ You are hurting my wrist, you brute. Release 
me!” She spoke angrily. He allowed her to go 
free. “ Now you can begin, ” she said. 

An angry flush reddened his cheeks. 


“ You deliberately disobeyed me,” he began. 

" Why not,” she answered. “ You were influ¬ 
enced by foolish jealousy, and forbade me going 
out. ” s s 


“ You had no right to act as you did.” 

“Since when have you constituted yourself my 
master?” she cried. “ I am of age. I have a right 
to go and do as I see fit.” 

“ Not when it concerns my honor.” 

She laughed mockingly. 

“ Your hon °r! ” she cried. “ I never knew you 
dealt in such a commodity. Honor! You have 
none.” 

Be careful, woman, you must not goad me too 
far,” he muttered, threateningly. 

What would you do? Chastise me severely? 
Perhaps kill me? ” 

“ I don’t know what I might do in my anger.” 

“Don’t be a fool, Claypole. You are not a 
child; neither am I. I do not fear you. You are 
too much of a coward to do anything of that nature. 


A CONJUGAL DIFFERENCE 


99 


I am surprised at you. A man of your sense, 
an old rounder, like you, to get such a crazy 
notion into your head as you have done. You 
have not stopped to reason. ” 

“ I have reasoned. I have looked upon things 
just as they are. I have seen your growing fond¬ 
ness for young Herman’s society. Every one has 
seen it.” 

“ That boy! ” contemptuously. 

“ Women like you like such boys; with his 
pink and white complexion, his health, his hand¬ 
some face.” 

“ You introduced him to me.” 

“ I know it. I introduced him to you the same 
as I did the others. You don’t hanker after the 
society of the rest of the gang. ” 

“ Of course not. He is the captain. I do not 
care to associate with the common burglars.” 

She spoke lightly. The angry look on the man’s 
face deepened. 

“ You have allowed your passion to get the better 
of your discretion,” he said. “ I introduced Her¬ 
man to you for a purpose, for our mutual benefit 
to work him. You, being a woman, have allowed 
him to work you. We have too much in common 
for me to stand by and see all our plans destroyed, 
our schemes frustrated.” 

For the first time the woman gave evidence of 
great anger. She rose from the piano stool, and 
confronted him, her eyes flashing. 

“ As I have told you before, Henry Claypole, I 
never forget myself. I met Herman Landgraff 


100 


THE STOLEN LACES 


to-night for a purpose, not for pleasure; although I 
will admit I enjoy his society. He is so gentle¬ 
manly; thinks so much of me. That purpose was 
to protect your interests. You know the gang are 
suspicious of you. They would like to throw you 
aside. I found out to-night that they have begun 
operations for themselves. Herman told me that a 
large portion of the fruits of their last big haul was 
kept back from your knowledge. They intended 
to dispose of it for their own benefit, givingyou no 
divvy. I knocked that in the head, as you will see. 
You could not have gone with me; if you had, this 
would have been kept back. You would have 
never known it. I had my suspicions; I wanted to 
be sure. But you acted like a fool. You made up 
your mind there was something wrong in me. You 
made yourself my jailer. I was bound to outwit 
you; I have done so. Now, as you have said, 
Henry Claypole, we have much in common. It 
is to my interest to stick to you, to yours to abide 
by me. But, if you ever allow your foolish jealousy 
to get the best of you again, then I will say, let 
everything go — all our plans, all the well laid 
schemes. The time is fast approaching, is almost 
here in fact, when we can turn our backs on this 
dirty, disagreeable town, and the risky business we 
are engaged in, and fly to a more congenial clime; 
but you must not forget yourself; you must be the 
•man I knew in years gone by: cool, cunning, 
shrewd; not a jealous chump.’’ 

The man started at her words. 

M You have spoken the truth? ” he asked. 


A CONJUGAL DIFFERENCE 101 

“ I have given you my explanation; you can 
believe it or not; use your own pleasure. If you 
want proof, go look for it.” 

He sits in a chair near her. 

“ I would rather believe you, Ally,” he said. “ It 
is not a pleasant feeling tome, this jealousy, as.you 
term it. If I am wrong, forgive me.” 

“ Ah! If you are coming to your senses again, 
I’ll say, all right. We will cry enough, and I’ll for¬ 
get all about it, you doing the same. But mind 
me, Claypole; I want no more of it. If I choose 
to go out and meet the captain, I must be granted 
that privilege, or anything else I may see fit to do 
for our interests. ” 

“ All right, Ally; as long as it’s straight,” he 
mumbled. 

“ I have never been crooked with you; you 
know it. I left my husband and children for 


“ Hush,” he cried, interrupting her. “ It is not 
necessary to recall all that. I know it; I appreci¬ 
ate it. Say no more about it.” 

“ Very well, then. Don’t accuse me, even in your 
mind, by even a proviso. If you keep on in that 
way, you will soon be insane, and I shall be 
obliged to send you to keep company with Miss 
Goggles.” 

“ I am not going crazy, Ally. We’ll drop it. 
Your scheme worked well with the busybody.” 

“ Yes, I guess she’ll mind her own business if 
she ever gets out.” 

“ Where is she confined? ” 



102 


THE STOLEN LACES 


“ In a private insane asylum at Elgin.” 

“ You won’t keep her there much longer, will 
you?” 

“ Until we get ready to skip>’ 

“ Well, that won’t be long now. Another haul 
like the last, then off we go.” 

Their conversation drifted off upon other topics; 
they chatted until a late hour; and, before they 
retired, their differences were all made up, and 
they were no doubt, a happy, loving pair; while, 
in the room adjoining, a pale, startled man stood 
with an expression of horror on his face, hear¬ 
ing it all. The man was Mr. Johnson, who had 
been assigned Miss Goggles’ room at his own 
desire; a desire to watch the couple whose actions 
he had ever been suspicious of. They knew not of 
his presence; thought the room unoccupied, them¬ 
selves alone, unheard; so they abandoned their 
usual care and talked freely. 

“ In a mad house at Elgin,” flashed through Mr. 
Johnson’s brain. “ I’ve learned that much. What 
fiends these people are, what cool, calculating 
wretches; but I’ll thwart them; I’ll^how them up in 
their true colors. To think that I have been sleep¬ 
ing under the same roof with such vile creatures 
for so long and didn’t know it. It makes me shud¬ 
der to think of it; but it won’t be for long now; I’ll 
go to Elgin at once, to-night. I’ll bring my dar¬ 
ling back with me upon the first train, and then 
every one shall know Henry Claypole and the 
woman he calls wife just as they are.” 

He hurried to his old room; his trunk was still 


MR. JOHNSON’S EXPERIENCES IO3 

there; he put on a dark overcoat, a soft hat, placed 
a revolver in his pocket, and crept down the stairs. 
Letting himself out with a latch-key, he hurried 
along the street toward the depot. He arrived 
just in time to catch the last night train, and, con¬ 
gratulating himself upon his good fortune, looking 
upon it as a good omen, was soon speeding along 
toward the little city of Elgin, his mind 
filled with the thoughts of what he had 
heard, his kindly heart aching with the thoughts of 
the woman he had found he madly loved; eager to 
return her to her friends; swearing vengeance upon 
those who had caused her so much suffering. “ For 
she must suffer, poor thing,” he muttered. 

CHAPTER XV. 

MR. JOHNSON’S EXPERIENCES. 

It was nearly daylight when Mr. Johnson got off 
the train at Elgin. A few gray streaks had already 
shot forth from the eastern sky, like “avant couriers ” 
of the glorious sun. The air felt chilly, causing the 
gentleman to draw his light overcoat around him 
more tightly, as he walked briskly up the street 
toward the hotel. Arriving at the hostelry, he was 
informed that breakfast would be ready in a few 
minutes, and so decided to wait until that meal 
before starting upon his quests. The breakfast 
was a good one, and the worthy gentleman enjoyed 
it, in spite of the anxiety that lay on his heart like 


104 


THE STOLEN LACES 


a heavy weight. After eating, he walked out into 
the office. 

A smooth-faced young man, with a pen behind 
his ear, perched upon a high stool behind the desk, 
answered to the title of clerk, upon Johnson’s in¬ 
quiry regarding that individual, usually the most 
prominent feature of a country hotel. 

“So you are the clerk?” Johnson said, in sur¬ 
prise. 

“ Yes; I am the clerk.” 

“ Are you not rather young for such a position?” 
mildly asked the elderly gentleman. 

“ I’m eighteen years old. I understand the busi¬ 
ness.” ^ 

“ Perhaps you do. But they usually have a man 
for such positions.” 

“ Ain’t I as good as a man? ” 

“ Perhaps better; particularly in your own esti¬ 
mation. What is the amount of my.bill? ” 

“ What did you have? ” sullenly asked the crest¬ 
fallen clerk. 

“ Breakfast.” 

“ Fifty cents.” 

Johnson paid the amount. Then, thinking he 
might learn something from the young fellow, he 
addressed him as follows: 

“ Got any cigars?” 

“ Best in Elgin,” throwing open the cigar case. 
“ See them, ” grabbing a handful out of a box in the 
corner, “ them are the best ten cent cigar in the 
State. Cost us $80 a thousand. Got to be pretty 
good stock for that money.” 


MR. JOHNSON’S EXPERIENCES 105 

“ I should think so ; what is the brand ? ” 

“ Commercial drummer’s pet. We’ve a five 
center we call ‘ Ain’t it a beauty ? ’ ” 

Mr.'Johnson glanced at the flashy picture upon 
the inside of the lid of the last-named brand. It 
represented a young lady, with a profusion of ex¬ 
tremely yellow curls, holding up a blue dress with 
one hand, considerably higher than was absolutely 
necessary, thereby disclosing a pair of red shoes, 
and two shapely limbs encased in black stockings, 
fastened above the knee, by scarlet garters. With 
the disengaged hand she held a cigar, which was 
sending forth an impossible cloud of very blue 
smoke ; the lady, looking fondly, even lovingly, 
upon the smoker. The words evidently had refer¬ 
ence to the cigar. 

“ They may be beauties,” commented Mr. John¬ 
son, after viewing this work of art. “ But I don t 
smoke five cent cigars. Give me a dollar’s worth 
of the others.” 

“ You’ll like this cigar,” remarked the youth, as 
he deftly wrapped up ten of the “Commercial 
drummer’s pets ” in a sheet of writing paper. 

“ If I do, I’ll buy more of ’em before I leave,” 
answered Johnson. “ Have one with me,” proffer¬ 
ing a cigar, putting one between his lips, and put¬ 
ting the rest in his cigar' case. 

“ Thanks, I will,” and the young man bit the end 
off the cigar and then picked up the paper which 
Johnson had thrown upon the floor. “ He ain’t 
such a bad old bloke, after all,” he added, men¬ 
tally. “ I suppose you’re pretty well acquainted 


io6 


THE STOLEN LACES 


around here,” remarked Mr. Johnson, indiffer¬ 
ently, blowing a cloud from the " Pet ” toward a 
railroad time card near him. 

“ I ought to. I’ve lived in Elgin all my life.” 

“ Nice town,” commented Johnson. 

“ Best town for its size in the State. Fun! lots 
of it. Girls. Dandies. ” 

“ I suppose you are pretty well posted,” said 
Mr. Johnson, admiringly. 

“ Well, I guess so. I can give ’em all pointers,” 
answered the youth, with a sly wink. 

“ A young fellow like you must keep posted.” 

“ Bet your life. ” 

“ Pretty good doctors here,” carelessly. 

“ Oh, some. Doc Bostwick; he’s the best. Then, 
there’s Gardner, Graham, Moneypenny and Ball. 
All pretty good.” 

“ Old school or new? ” 

“ What? ” 

" Allopathic or homeopathic? ” 

“ Oh. Bostwick’s an allopath; so is Gardner and 
Graham. Moneypenny is a homeopath. Ball is 
an electric.” 

“ Eclectic, perhaps you mean. ” 

“ I guess so. I don’t know much about them 
things. ” 

“ One thing you don’t know much about,” 
thought Johnson. ^ 

Aloud he said: “ Who has the biggest practice ? ” 

" Well » it's pretty evenly divided between Bost¬ 
wick and Graham. Gardner is an old fellow. 
He’s getting too old to carry on business much now. 


MR. JOHNSON’S EXPERIENCES 107 

Moneypenny is a new man. Folks don’t go much 
on him yet, although he’s done some good. Ball 
don’t do much practicing.” 

“ How is that?” 

“ He keeps a kind of a lunatic asylum. Has 
people there off their base. Treats them at his 
house.” 

“ Oh, an alienist.” 

“ What?” 

“ A physician for those of unsound mind.” 

“ Yes, I guess so. ” 

“ Any one else in town who does the same? ” 

“ No. One’s enough.” 

“ I should think so. Where does Dr. Ball live? ” 

“ About a mile out of town; a brick house on 
the left.” 

“ Do you suppose he is at home? ” 

“ He’s generally there; why?” 

“ I think I’ll call On him.” 

“ Are you crazy? ” with a sharp smile at his 
witticism. 

“ No, I hope not,” keeping his temper. “ I am 
doing business with physicians.” 

“ What line?” 

“ Books. I am introducing a new work on cere¬ 
bral difficulties.” 

“ Ah; doctor’s book, eh? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ I’ve got a lot of doctor’s books. A fake doctor 
put up here for two weeks once. We had to hold 
his trunk for board. I got the books.” 


108 THE STOLEN LACES 

“ Are you going to study for the practice of 
medicine?” sarcastically. 

“ No,” answered the youth, innocently. “ It 
don’t hurt a fellow to keep posted.” 

“ No, I suppose not,” and Mr. Johnson turned 
away from the desk, just as a crowd of commercial 
men rushed in at the door, and approached the 
desk to register. 

As he went out upon the street, he heard' the 
voice* of the youthful clerk welcoming the new¬ 
comers, as follows: 

“ Hello, Jim, old stock, just got in? How’s 
trade? Why, howdy, Charley? Come back to see 
your girl? Good morning, Mr. Bowser, you’re 
quite a stranger,” etc. 

“ A very fresh young man,” commented Mr. 
Johnson. “ I suppose his position makes him so.” 

He had found out what he wished to know. 
Now for a livery stable to procure a close carriage 
and a good horse. A large sign displaying in faded 
colors a prancing blue steed, held in with difficulty 
by a short man with side whiskers and a large hat, 
with the legend printed beneath, “ Livery and sale 
stable,” attracted his attention. 

There s the place, he murmured, and entered 
the wide door. 

A decidedly horsey smell greeted his nostrils. 
The only man present was busily engaged in squirt¬ 
ing water out of a hose upon the wheels of an 
express wagon. 

“ I should like to have a horse and carriage,” 
announced the gentleman, addressing this individual. 


109 


MR. JOHNSON’S EXPERIENCES 

" Do you ? All right. Wait a minute till I find 
Mr. Brown.” And, dropping the hose, nearly 
deluging Mr. Johnson’s boots with water, the 
fellow hurried away. 

Mr. Brown evidently was not about the place, 
for the minute extended into ten, and still the gen¬ 
tleman waited. 

Finally the fellow returned. 

u Mr. Brown is not around. I’ve sent Bill over 
to his house. He’ll be back soon.” 

“Very well; I’ll wait.” 

The man resumed his occupation, making some 
original remarks about the weather, the state of 
the crops, etc., etc. 

To all of which Mr. Johnson replied in mono¬ 
syllables. 

At last the man ceased talking, and, puckering 
up his lips, broke into a shrill whistle, carrying out 
the melody of “ Annie Laurie ” with frightful dis¬ 
regard for time, and with horrible variations. 
Thinking perhaps to improve upon the whistling, 
he began to Sing, and, as his voice was harsh, 
bearing a close resemblance to a fog whistle*on a 
steamboat, the effect can better be imagined than 
described. 

“ And for bony Annie Lowrie , I would lay me 
down and die,” sang the man. 

“ I wish to heaven you would,” thought Mr. 
Johnson, “ or I shall soon be compelled to do 
the same.” 

The appearance of a short man, clad in corduroy, 
and bearing a striking resemblance to the hero of 


IIO 


THE STOLEN LACES 


the blue steed upon the sign, put an end to the 
man’s vocal efforts. Cutting off “ Annie Laurie ” 
with a snap, he said : 

“ This gent wants to hire a rig, Mr. Brown.” 

“Ah! Well, I guess we kin accommodate him. 
Is the black mare in ? ” 

“ Jest come in, sir. She ain’t in no condition to 
go out again right away. ” 

“ How about Charley horse?” 

“ He’ll do. He’s feelin’ his oats pretty well. 
But mebbe thfe gent kin manage him,” with a 
doubtful glance at Mr. Johnson, who had never 
driven a horse in his life. 

“ I would prefer to have a driver,” quickly cried 
that gentleman. “ I want a close carriage' and a 
driver.” 

“ I don’t know whether I kin spare one of the 
men this morning,” mused Mr. Brown. “ Is Ben 
around? ” to the man. 

“ Yes. He’s cleanin’ off the black mare.” 

“ Well, he kin go. You go, tell him to hitch up 
Charley horse in the Newport wagon, and let the 
curtains down.” 

“ All right, sir;” and the vocalist hurried away 
toward the rear, where the stamping of horses’ feet 
indicated the stable. In a few moments he re¬ 
turned. “All right, sir,” he. announced; “Ben’ll 
be all ready in a minute.” 

Mr. Johnson found that the man’s minute meant 
muclT longer. It was fully fifteen before Ben, a 
surly-looking man, with his pantaloons tucked into 
his dirty boots; his head covered by a nondescript- 


MR. JOHNSON'S EXPERIENCES III 

looking article, a cross between a hat and a cap, 
appeared with “ Charley horse,” a heavy-looking 
beast, whose dull eye gave no evidence of the fact 
that he was “ feeling his oats ” particularly that 
morning. 

Mr. Brown held up the shafts of the wagon, 
while Ben backed in the equine. 

At last everything was ready, and Mr. Johnson 
stepped into the wagon. 

“ Hold him in, Ben,” cautioned Mr. Brown, re¬ 
ferring to the horse; and Ben, with a nod, and a 
chirrup to the horse, drove out of the stable. 

“ I wish to go to Dr. Ball's house,” said Mr. 
Johnson. 

“ Werry good, sur. I’ll have you there in a 
jiffy. Charley horse is a good goer.” 

“ He don’t look it,” remarked Mr. Johnson. 

“ Don’t he! Guess you ain’t much of a judge of 
horses,” answered Ben, contemptuously. “ I’m 
having all I can do to hold him in.” 

Now, as the lines were hanging decidedly loose, 
and Ben was not exerting himself a particle, this 
announcement struck Mr. Johnson as being de¬ 
cidedly peculiar. But he made no reply. All 
keepers of livery stables are inclined to overrate 
the speed of their horses. They grow so accus¬ 
tomed to lying upon this subject, that they actually 
grow to believe it themselves. 

“ That hoss has a record,” commented Ben, as 
they jogged along. “ At the county fair, last year, 
he took the first prize. ” 

“ Did he? ” with an accent of surprise. 


112 


THE STOLEN LACES 


“Yes; I tell you he’s a dandy. Brown wouldn’t 
take five hundred for him. He’s refused four-fifty. ” 

“ Four dollars and a half? ” inquired Mr. John¬ 
son, innocently. He could not help chaffing the 
fellow a little. 

“ Naw. Four hundred and fifty dollars. You’re 
tryin’ to guy me; ” and the driver looked angrily at 
the mild-looking gentleman upon the back seat. 

Mr. Johnson hastened to assure him that such a 
thing had never entered his mind. He had been 
thinking of something else, and the words had 
slipped out of his mouth unawares. 

“ I didn’t know,” growled the fellow, slightly 
mollified. “ I don’t like a man to guy me.” 

“ I would not do such a thing,” cried Mr. John¬ 
son, and they continued to drive in profound 
silence. 

The distance to Dr. Ball’s residence was not 
great. In a few minutes, Ben drew rein, with a 
loud “ Whoa,” and turned to his passenger, “ We’re 
at Dr. Ball’s house,” he announced. “ That is it, 
the two-story brick on the left. You’ll have to ring 
at the gate. They alius keep it locked, in case 
the crazy folks should get out, you know.” 

Mr. Johnson opened the door of the carriage 
and stepped out. A vigorous pull at the bell-knob 
upon one side of the gate brought a slouchy-look- 
ing old man, who, in answer to the question “ if 
the doctor was at home,” answered, “ Yaas, he’s 
home. Come in. You’ll have to wait at the gate 
inside until I go an’ see if he’s busy. I won’t be 
gone long.” 


THE GAME BAGGED 


113 

Mr. Johnson instructed Ben to wait, and sat 
down upon a bench beside the gate to await the 
gatekeeper’s return. He saw him walk up the 
path, go around the house, reappearing in a few 
moments. 

“ The doctor will see you,” he announced, com¬ 
ing to Johnson. “ Come this way.” 

And he started for the house, followed by the 
eager gentlenfan. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

THE GAME BAGGED. 

As DENIS Simmons and his partner Davis hur¬ 
ried along, the detective unfolded his scheme. 

“ That train the crooks are on, is an accommo¬ 
dation. It has to stop at Grand Crossing to let the 
Pittsburg express pass it. It has to lay there on 
the siding for thirty minutes. If we can get to the 
depot in time to catch the Pittsburg express, \ye 
will nab ’em at Grand Crossing.” 

“ We ain’t got much time,” answered Davis. 
“ We’ve got to put in some tall licks to get to the 
depot in time.” 

“ I know it. But there’s a livery stable not far 
from here. We can get a hack and make it.” 

“ So we can. You think of everything, Denis.” 

“ I have to think. I won’t go back without those 
boys; and I’ve got to have my wits about me to 
collar ’em. They’re pretty slick for kids.” 

The Stolen Laces 8 


114 


THE STOLEN LACES 


“ That they are,” agreed Davis. 

. At that moment Denis heard the roll of carriage 
wheels upon the pavement. 

“ We’re in luck,” he said. “ Here comes a hack. ” 
It was true. A one-horse coupe was coming 
toward them. 

“ Number 601,” muttered Denis, as he saw the 
figures on the lamp. “ It’s Flaherty; we’re all 
right. Hey, Flaherty! ” 

The coupe slackened speed. 

“ Hello! ” answered the driver. 

“ It’s me, Denis Simmons. Davis is with me. 
Drive us to the Union Depot.” 

“ By gosh! I am glad to see you,” cried Flaherty, 
driving up to the curb. " Where have you been 
keepin’ yourself ? ” 

“ Business, Flaherty. I’ve been on bank work 
lately. That’s the reason you haven’t run across 
me. But we’re in a hurry, Flaherty. How’s the 
nag? ” 

“ Nearly fresh. Want to catch a train ? ” 

“ Yes, the Pittsburg Express.” 

“ You haven’t got much time, that’s a fact. 
Jump in.” 

The two officers jumped into the carriage, and 
the next minute were being thrown from side to 
side, as Flaherty belabored his steed. 

“ He’ll get us there,” remarked Denis. 

“ Yes, if he don’t kill us on the way.” 

“ If there’s one thing Chicago does need, it’s new 
streets,” answered Davis. * 


THE GAME BAGGED 115 

“ Not new streets, but new paving,” corrected 
Denis. 

“ Yes, that’s what I meant.” 

“ Holy Jerusalem, Flaherty, pick your road,” he 
shouted, as the wheels of the coupe struck a pile of 
stone near the sidewalk. 

But Flaherty evidently did not hear him. At 
any rate, he did not heed, and, when the smoking 
horse drew up before the Union Depot, the two 
officers emerged from the vehicle, bruised and sore 
all over. 

“ You’ve got two minutes,” cried the driver. 
“ It was purty tough drivin’; but I got ye here.” 

“ Another block, and we would have been 
corpses/* answered Davis. 

“ Settle with you later,” cried Denis, and they 
hurried into the station, not stopping to purchase 
tickets. 

The ticket inspector stopped them. 

" Tickets, please.” 

In reply Denis showed his star. 

“ I only want to go to Grand Crossing,” he said. 

“ Detective work.” 

The official looked doubtful, but the depot 
master, who was passing, and knew Denis, assured 
him it was all right, and the officers passed through 
the gate; none too soon, either, for the train was 
moving as they swung on board. 

" A close shave !” panted Davis, as they stood 
upon the platform. 

“ Rather,” answered Denis; “ but we got them.” 

“ We’re in luck. I guess we’ll bag the game. ” 


ii 6 


THE STOLEN LACES 


“ I feel confident of success,” answered Simmons. 

The conductor happened to be an old friend of 
the veteran officer. He did not demand a fare. 

Grand Crossing was reached, and the two officers 
jumped off the train, even before it came to a full 
stop. 

The accommodation was standing on a side track. 

“ You watch outside; I’ll go through the train,” 
whispered Davis. 

He found the conductor, and in a few words told 
him his business. 

“ I saw two young fellows jump on at Archer 
avenue. I think they’re in the smoker.” 

Together they proceeded to the car designated, 
the conductor standing at one door, while Denis 
came in at the other. He passed through the car 
No sign of the hunted lads. 

‘They’re not here,” he said to the conductor, 
after carefully searching every portion of the car. 

“ Perhaps they’ve gone into some one of the other 
coaches,” suggested the conductor. 

The detective nodded his head. They searched 
the entire train. The thieves could not be found. 

“ Well, that’s strange,” growled Davis, as he 
stepped off onto the platform. 

The baggage-master approached. 

“ Did you see any one get off this train when it 
stopped? ” asked the detective. 

“ A gentleman and lady; that’s all. I knew 
them; Mr. Besock and his wife.” 

“ No one else? ” 

“ No.” 


THE GAME BAGGED 117 

“ You are sure that two young fellows, about 
eighteen years of age, didn’t jump off? ” 

“ No. I’m dead sure. Unless they got off on 
the other side.’* 

“ They might have done that,” Suggested the 
conductor. 

“ There’s a lot of freight cars over there,” 
remarked the baggage-master. 

“ I’ll look through ’em,” said Denis, compressing 
his lips—now thoroughly aroused. 

“ Sorry I can’t be of assistance to you,’’cried the 
conductor. “ There goes my signal for starting. 
All aboard! ” swinging his lantern. 

The detective stood on the platform until the 
train had moved out. Davis approached him. 

“ Well. What luck,” he asked. 

“ They are noton the train,” answered Denis, 
gloomily. 

“ They didn’t get off while I was watching,” said 
Davis. 

“ They might have slipped off when the train 
stopped here,” remarked Denis. “ You know the 
accommodation has been lying here a half an 
hour before the express pulled out; they have had 
lots of time to get away.” 

“ What are you going to do now ? ” 

“ Search the freight cars. ” 

“ Do you think they would hang around here if 
they got off the train ? ” 

“ I don’t know. Anyhow, we might as well look 
through the cars. If they are not there, we can go 
back to the'old house on Archer avenue. When 


li8 


THE STOLEN LACES 


can we catch a train stopping at Archer avenue ? ” 
he asked the baggage-master, who stood near. 

“ In an hour.” 

“ Good. If they return there, they will take a 
carriage, or something of the kind. We can lose 
an hour, and get there as soon as they can, perhaps 
sooner. Come, we will look through the cars.” 

The baggage-master lent his assistance. Every 
car was thoroughly examined and searched. No 
signs of the hunted ones. While they were looking 
underneath the last car, a man crossed the tracks, and 
came up to them. 

“ What are you looking for? ” he asked, curiously. 

“A couple of escaping crooks,” answered the 
baggage-master. “ Hello Jack, is that you ? ” recog¬ 
nizing the newcomer. 

“ Yes. Who were the fellows? ” 

“ Two young men dressed nicely, about eighteen 
years old,” answered Denis. 

“ One of ’em with light curly hair?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ The other darker, with a scar over his eye? ” 

“ Yes. Have you seen ’em? ” 

“ 1 drove two fellows answering that description 
from the accommodation to the stable. They 
wanted me to take ’em into the city. I told ’em I 
couldn’t do it, but I’d take ’em to the stable, and they 
could get a rig there to take ’em into Chicago.” 

“ Our men, as sure as shooting,” cried Denis. 

“ Can you drive us to the stable) ” 

“Sure.” 


THE GAME BAGGED 


119 

“ But, first. Do you know what part of town 
they wanted to go? ” 

“ No - They didn’t tell me. I guess you can find 
out at the stable.” 

They crossed the tracks, and were soon being 
driven to the point desired. 

“ Yes. I can tell you,” said the man in charge. 
“ They wanted to be driven to Archer road and 
State street.” 

“ Our men,” cried Denis. 

“ Take us back to the station. ” They re-entered 
the carriage, and were driven back to the station. 

Impatiently the detective waited for the train. It 
seemed to him that the time passed on leaden 
wings. At last the whistle was heard far down 
the track. In a few minutes the train rushed up to 
the platform and stopped. 

Into the smoker dashed Denis and his partner. 
From out of his pocket he drew his black pipe. 
Davis followed suit. They smoked until the brake- 
man called out “Archer avenue.” Then they 
arose and walked to the door, and left the train. 
Day was beginning to dawn as they strode out across 
the street. 

The windows were closed on the second floor of 
the old house; but, as they drew near, they could 
hear the sound of confusion coming from the room 
where Denis had forced his way several hours 
before. 

“ They’re in the house,” he muttered. 

The officer on the beat passed at this moment. 


120 


THE STOLEN LACES 


They beckoned to him. After hearing their story, 
he said: 

“ My partner will be on the next corner in five 
minutes. Wait for him, and we’ll go in and nab 
the two of ’em.” 

They waited. The partner soon made his 
appearance, and, sending Davis and the partner 
around to go up the back stairs, Denis and the offi¬ 
cer of the beat tried the front way. 

They had no difficulty in entering. Denis had 
unlocked the front door when he had left the hous ; e 
upon his previous visit, and it h^d not been refast¬ 
ened. 

They crept up the stairs as noiselessly as two 
rats. Voices came to their ears from out of the 
front room. The next minute they had broken 
open the door and surprised Herman and Curly 
sitting at a table eating, waited upon by Mrs. 
Landgraff. 

“ You are my prisoners,” cried Denis, revolver 
in hand. 

“ Nabbed! ” growled Herman, his handsome' face 
turning-pale. 

The next moment he was handcuffed. 

“ You see, Mrs. Landgraff, I found’em,” remarked 
Denis, grimly, as he snapped on the bracelets. 

“ Yes, curse you, I see you have,” she answered, 

Davis and the other officer entered at that 
moment. 

“ Got, ’em after all,” cried Davis, joyfully. 

“ Yes; it was a long chase, but we got there, old 
man. We can go back to the. station now. I don’t 


THE LOST ONE FOUND 


121 


think there’ll be any laugh on us now. What do 
you think, Davis? ” 

“No laugh and no flies on us. Eh, Denny? ” 

They marched their prisoners down the stairs 
before them, and, leaving them in charge of Davis, 
Denis returned to search the house. 

In spite of the old woman’s protestations, he 
looked through every room. He congratulated 
himself that he had thought of it, for he found the 
upper rooms literally packed with plunder. 

“ By gosh, these youngsters are old hands at it,” 
he muttered, as he made this discovery. “ This is, 
indeed, the biggest haul of the year. I’ll get pro¬ 
moted for this. ” 

At ten o’clock the lads were under lock and key 
at the Central Station, and a wagon load of plun¬ 
der, comprising laces from Mendelsohn’s, books 
from Cobb’s Library, and guns, revolvers, and 
cutlery from the hardware store of Williamson & 
Graves, was deposited in a room above their cells. 

There was no more laughing at Denis Sim¬ 
mons, who had been on duty forty-eight hours, and 
fulfilled his promise of making one of the most 
important captures of the year. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE LOST ONE FOUND. 

A LOW, rambling two-story house of brick, the 
side windows closely barred, the front ones pro¬ 
tected by wire netting, was what struck Mr. John- 




122 


THE STOLEN LACES 


son's eyes as he drew nearer the house. The large 
garden surrounding it was well kept, the plants 
being just set out, his ring having probably sum¬ 
moned his conductor from that labor. Not a very 
prepossessing house, but the garden was certainly 
beautiful, and amply made up for the lack of beauty 
in the edifice. 

The man opened the front door, and knocked on 
a heavy one of oak upon one side of the hall. 

“ Come in,” sounded a voice from the room. 

Mr. Johnson entered. 

A tall man, pale and thin, and prematurely bald, 
looked up from a book he had evidently been 
engaged in perusing when he had been interrupted. 

" You wished to see me, sir,” he asked, motion¬ 
ing Mr. Johnson to a chair. 

“ You are Dr. Ball.” 

“ That is my name, sir; and yours? ” 

“ Johnson, sir.” 

“ Ah, Mr. Johnson. To what am I indebted for 
the honor of this visit.” 

“ You treat persons of unsound mind.” 

“ You are correct, sir. I have some little reputa¬ 
tion in a modest way — only in a modest way”_ 

as if anxious to impress this fact upon his visitor. 
He was a retiring sort of a man; not anxious to be 
considered a bright and shining light in his pro¬ 
fession— only a humble, a very humble, practi¬ 
tioner— conducting his affairs in an extremely 
secluded and modest way. 

“ I have heard of you,” replied Johnson. “ Your 
reputation has reached me.” 


THE LOST ONE FOUND 


123 


” I am so glad. Pleased to hear that my name 
has come to the ears of such an estimable gentleman 
as yourself,” and so on. 

“ I have come upon a matter of business,” 
began Johnson. 

“ Some dear one bereft of reason ? How sad, 
what an affliction, to think that those we love, 
surrounding us, apparently living, but nearly dead; 
•for, when the mind loses its ruling power, the 
beautiful handiwork of the Almighty is as nothing. 
All is dead, only instinct guides. ” 

He would probably have run on in this strain 
for an hour had not Mr. Johnson interrupted him. 

“ No,” cried that gentleman; “ I have no one in 
my family, of unsound mind.” 

“ A friend, then, a dear friend. Ah, the beauties 
of friendship. It is akin to love, more lasting. For, 
while love dies, friendship can live on forever; even 
after death, memory treasures the true friend,” 
rolling his eyes rapturously. 

“ You misunderstand me, doctor,” cried Johnson, 
to whom this man’s hypocrisy was loathsome. 

“ I did not call upon you to speak of your profes¬ 
sional ability, nor to invoke its aid. I appreciate 
all you have said. It is true and all that. I came 
to see you in reference to an inmate of your asylum. ” 

A quick change overshadowed the man’s counte¬ 
nance ; a look of fear came to his greenish eyes. 

“ One of the inmates. Which one ?” he cried. 

Johnson noted the change. The man had re¬ 
vealed his true character. 

“ A middle-aged lady,” said Mr. Johnson. “ She 


124 


THE STOLEN LACES 


has been an inmate of your house for several weeks. ” 

“ Her name.” 

“ Miss Henrietta Goggles.” 

The doctor seemed to consider. 

“ Goggles, Goggles,” he mused. “ You must be 
mistaken, sir. There is no lady by that name in my 
establishment.” 

“ I am not mistaken,” cried Johnson. “ I am 
positive. She may not be known to you by that 
name, but she is here under your charge. I know 
it.” 

“ There is no necessity of your losing your 
temper, Mr. Johnson. It is often the case that 
patients are placed under my treatment under 
fictitious names. The friends do not care to have 
it known that one of their dear ones is affected by 
the dread disease, insanity. But supposing she is 
here, and under a false name ; what of it ? What 
do you wish? 

“ I come to remove her from this place. To 
demand that you release her.” 

A pleasant, patronizing smile came to the doc¬ 
tor’s face. 

“Did you place the lady under my care?” he 
asked. 

“No. God forbid.” 

“ Then, what you ask, or, to use your own words, 
demand , is impossible. I cannot permit one of my 
patients to leave my house without the consent and 
knowledge of those who placed her here! ” 

“ You refuse to release her? ” 

“ Now just consider a moment, Mr. Johnson. 


THE LOST ONE FOUND 


125 


Do you think it an advisable thing for me to accede 
to your demands? you, an entire stranger to me, 
to take one of my afflicted ones from under my roof ? 
Do you consider I would be justified in giving an 
insane creature liberty? These unfortunate ones 
are dangerous in their frenzy; I cannot do it.” 

“ But she is not an insane creature,” raved the 
man. “ She is as sane as you or I.” 

The doctor smiled again. 

“ Yes; they all claim they are not afflicted. 
You would be surprised to hear what many of them 
say. I assure you, to one who did not know, to a 
chance visitor, it would seem that many of these 
unfortunate ones were being kept here against 
their will, purely from mercenary or malicious mo¬ 
tives on the part of their friends, whom they look 
upon as their enemies.” 

“ That’s just the case of the poor creature I 
have come to save,” cried Mr. Johnson. “ She 
has been confined here purely from motives of re¬ 
venge — malicious revenge on the part of a base, 
designing woman.” 

The doctor shook his head pityingly. 

Pardon me, Mr. Johnson, but you must be mis¬ 
taken,” he murmured. “ I would, indeed, be a poor 
physician, if I could not detect the difference 
between insanity and saneness. 

“ In the first place, I do not think the lady you 
speak of is under my care at all. In the second 
place, I am well acquainted with the friends and 
relations of all my patients. There is not one but 


I '26 


THE STOLEN LACES 


what I know; so, you see, your words are improba¬ 
ble; your demand out of the question.” 

Mr. Johnson had by this tiijie worked himself 
into a passion. He rose to his feet, his eyes 
flashing. 

“ You lie, Doctor Ball,” he cried. “ You know, 
as well as I do, that the lady I seek is in this 
house; you know she is not insane. She was 
stricken with brain fever several weeks ago, and 
taken from her residence in Chicago by a so-called 
doctor, who, if I remember rightly, resembled you 
very much. He left no address; did not state 
where he was going to take her. 

" But I made up my mind to investigate. My 
investigations have led me to your house; she is 
here, and I demand her release. If you refuse me, 

I shall adopt means to compel you, sir, to break 
up your infamous business.” 

The doctor had also risen to his feet during Mr. 
Johnson’s speech. His face had grown livid. His 
greenish eyes nearly started from his head. When 
the enraged man stopped from sheer exhaustion, 
he replied, in a low, hissing tone: 

“ Hard words-, Mr. Johnson, very hard words. 
Do you know, sir, that your actions since you have 
been in my house would lead me to believe you 
insane? Do you “know I would be justified in 
placing you in confinement? Your story is ridicu¬ 
lous; who would believe such a cock and bull 
affair? Now, sir, hear my answer; I do not know 
anything at all about the mythical personage you 
have described. I believe she exists only in your 


THE LOST ONE FOUND 


127 


imagination, and I order you from my house. Go! 
Do your worst, I do not fear any of your threats; 
you are a babbling fool; an insane idiot.” 

Gasping with suppressed rage, Mr. Johnson 
seized the back of his chair for support. What 
could he do. Must he go and leave the woman he 
loved in this man’s power? Wild thoughts flashed 
through his mind. Ah, an idea comes to him. 

He cooled down. * 

“ So you refuse to accede to my demand,” he 
said, quietly. 

“ I most certainly do.” 

“ You claim that this lady is not here.” 

“ I do.” 

“ Will you grant me the privilege of going 
through your asylum. She may be here known to 
you as some one else.” 

“ I cannot grant your desire.” 

“ Think, Doctor Ball. You may have been 
deceived. May be committing, or at least abet¬ 
ting, a crime that will make you liable to the law ” 

“ I do not fear it, sir.” 

“ Very well, sir. Hear me; I will tell you why I 
have interested myself in this case. I am a detect¬ 
ive. I have investigated this thing thoroughly. 
I know the lady is here.” 

“ A detective,” gasped the doctor, for the first 
time showing signs of fear. 

“ Yes, a detective,”continued Johnson, following 
up his success. “ Unfortunately, I have not a 
search warrant with me; I did not think I’d need 
one. I thought I would find in you an honorable 


128 


THE STOLEN LACES 


man, one who had been imposed upon and would 
be glad to assist justice; but I have found you a dif¬ 
ferent kind of a man. I shall go from your house, 
leaving a man to watch outside lest you attempt to 
remove the lady during my absence. Upon my 
leturn I shall be armed with the necessary papers 
to search your house; yes, to level it to its founda¬ 
tion if needs be. Good day, sir.” 

“ One moment, sir,” the doctor cried. “ Your 
demand angered me; I thought you some 
meddling fool who did not know what you were 
talking about. I will grant you the privilege of 
going through the asylum. If the lady is here, 
believe me, I was not aware of any crime being con¬ 
nected with her presence here. I would not will¬ 
ingly keep any one in my asylum against their will, 
if they were not dangerous. Come, I will myself 
conduct you.” 

Mentally congratulating himself, Mr. Johnson 
followed the spare form of the doctor, that gentle¬ 
man now as nice as any one could wish. He threw 
open all the doors of the many cells; expatiated on 
some of the inmates. The house had been nearly 
gone over. 

Still no Miss Goggles. 

At last the doctor stopped before a door next to 
the last upon the corridor. 

“ This patient is a lady who has had a violent 
spell of sickness. She is now convalescent. Her 
nephew placed her in my care.” 

So saying, he threw open the door. 

With a glad cry, Mr. Johnson sprang forward, for 


THE LOST ONE FOUND 


129 


there, sitting in a low rocker, a look of unutterable 
melancholy upon her pale face, sat Miss Goggles. 

“Mr. Johnson,” she cried, the tears bursting 
from her eyes. 

“ Miss Goggles,” cried that gentleman. “ Thank 
God, I have found you.” 

“ This is the lady?” inquired the doctor. 

Mr. Johnson turned upon him. 

" Well, you know she is,” he answered. “ You 
knew she was not insane. One look in her eyes 
would convince any one. Come, Miss Goggles, 
you shall leave here at once.” 

“ She is very weak,” remonstrated the doctor. 

“ I am sufficiently strong to be moved,” an¬ 
swered the lady* a look of fear coming to her eyes. 
“ I will not remain here longer,” she whispered to 
Mr. Johnson. 

“ You shall not, dear lady. Come.” 

Tenderly he wrapped the shawl (which was 
thrown over the back of the chair) around her 
wasted form. Carefully he assisted her down the 
stairs. 

At the foot, the doctor said, in a low tone: 

“ Remember, I am not guilty of intentional 
crime. If this lady was brought here against her 
wishes, I am not to blame. The young man who 
brought her claimed that she was his aunt, and was 
subject to frequent species of mania. I thought he 
spoke the truth.” 

" Apologies are unnecessary, doctor. I have 

The Stolen Laces g 


130 


THE STOLEN LACES 


found the woman I sought. I am satisfied. I shall 
not seek'to do you harm.” 

The gate was reached, the lost one-—found 
again — tenderly assisted into the carriage; then 
to the railway station, to Chicago; then home. 
What rejoicing — what excitement! 

But it was too much' for Miss Goggles. That 
night she was taken ill again, and a physician had 
to be called, Mr. Johnson going himself this time, 
to be sure there would be no mistake. 

The doctor looked grave as his practiced eye 
rested upon Miss Goggles’ face. “ She has had a 
severe shock,” he said. “ She must be carefully 
nursed. She may pull through.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

A CONFESSION. 

The lads seemed stupefied by their arrest. 
Young Landgraff, who was addressed as “ captain” 
by the others, was particularly cast down. He 
sat on the cot for several hours after he was placed 
in the cell, staring at the wall with vacant eyes, 
Next morning the expression of unutterable 
misery was still on his face. He turned to Simmons, 
who entered the cell with a substantial breakfast for 
him, and said, in a hollow voice: 

“ Mr. Simmons, will you do me a favor?” 

“ Yes,” answered Denis, promptly, “ if it is any¬ 
thing in reason.” 

u Who was it gave us away? ” 



A CONFESSION 


13r 

The touch of anxiety in this query struck 
Simmons as 'peculiar. He did not reply imme¬ 
diately, and Landgraff continued, still more anx¬ 
iously: 

“ Tell me if it was a woman.” 

Simmons’ mind reverted to the lady who 
furnished the clue about the lace. Thinking the 
lad had some strong motive in seeking this informa¬ 
tion, he answered that it was a woman. 

“ I thought so,” said the boy, gloomily, and then, 
brightening up suddenly: “Let Curly and the 
others come in; we may have something to tell 
you.” 

Curly and Mott were brought into the cell. The 
captain looked at them sadly, and said : 

“ Boys, she gave us away! ” 

“ No,” exclaimed the lads; “ she’d never do 
that.” 

“ It’s true; Mr. Simmons says so,” said Land¬ 
graff, tears gathering in his eyes, which he reso¬ 
lutely brushed away with his coat cuff. 

“ Landgraff is right,” said Denis, bewildered at 
the turn of affairs, but surmising that an interesting 
disclosure was imminent; “ she furnished the 
clue.” 

The lads groaned, and looked ineffably dis¬ 
tressed. 

“ What do you propose, captain ? ” asked 
Curly. 

“ Revenge,” exclaimed Landgraff, fiercely. 

“ Yes, that’s right,” said the others in chorus. 


132 


THE STOLEN LACES 


“ Let’s make a clean breast of it, and let the trai¬ 
tress take equal chances with us.” 

“ This is getting decidedly interesting,” said Denis 
to himself. “ I wonder who she is, and what she 
has to do with these kids.” 

“ Mr. Simmons,” Landgraff said, with an air of 
dignity which was rather amusing, “ if you will 
kindly furnish me with pens, ink and paper, I will 
draw up a statement about those robberies, and 
furnish you with information which will be of great 
service to you. ” 

Denis readily complied with this request, after 
removing the others to their respective cells. 

In an hour the statement was prepared, and an 
astonishing document it proved. It was a full con¬ 
fession of the long series of burglaries which had 
given the police so much trouble. But the most 
remarkable passages related to the connection of 
Lawyer Claypole and Mrs. Claypole with the 
gang. 

Landgraff told how himself and colleagues had 
been worked upon by this estimable couple. “ She 
told us fairy tales,” he wrote, “ and got us all in 
love with her. She promised to elope with me 
this summer, and I believe she was in earnest, for 
she said she didn’t have it very comfortable with 
the old man. Cla^pSle engineered the burglaries, 
and we acted under his instructions. He put up 
this street peddling fake, and we kept piles of stuff 
in the vault in his office, on Dearborn street. He 
didn’t always do the square thing, but we were 
bamboozled by his wife, who promised everything, 


A CONFESSION 


133 


to make matters run smooth and easy like. Now 
that she’s squealed, we think it nothing but fair 
that we should tell all about the snap, so that she 
may get the same deal as we get. The Mendelsohn 
job was done for Mrs. Claypole. She wanted to 
get square with a fellow named Hadley, who had 
been saying rough things about her, and she started 
the yarn that he helped the Dutchman to rob him¬ 
self. She took me to the store one day and gave 
me points about the laces that were best to take. 
She had a trunk full of the stuff. We weren’t so 
very bad before these Claypoles got a-hold of us, 
only doing a little fake now and then while we were 
out peddling. This is all a true story, and we give 
it away so that that fiend in female form may be 
pinched and go down where she belongs, for play¬ 
ing false with poor boys who loved and lost her.” 

Simmons read this curious epistle without any 
regard to the romance it contained. Claypole 
was known to him as a reputable lawyer, and he 
could scarce believe the story of his connection with 
the gang. 

He lost no time, however, in going to the office 
on Dearborn street. The lawyer had not been 
there that day. An inspection of the vault revealed 
a lot of plate, jewelry, silks, velvets, laces, and 
other valuable property. 

This was startling evidence of the lawyer’s close 
relations with the youthful gang of burglars. Sim¬ 
mons hurried to the boarding-house on West Adams 
street to learn that Mr. and Mrs. Claypole had 


134 


THE STOLEN LACES 


removed their trunks on the previous evening, and 
left no address. 

A most diligent inquiry failed to find traces of 
their whereabouts, and neither Mr. Claypole nor 
his fascinating wife have been seen from that day 
to this in the city of Chicago. 

The boys had a speedy trial. Their spirits were 
broken by the perfidious conduct, as they sup¬ 
posed, of their “mother.” Being under age, they 
were sent to the Bridewell for eighteen months 
each. 

This clever capture of Denis Simmons broke up 
one of the most dangerous gangs that ever infested 
Chicago. It restored Mr. Mendelsohn’s good name, 
and reconciled him to his old father in Germany. 

But trouble seems inseparable from some men. 
Mendelsohn’s fortune was very precarious after¬ 
ward, and two years ago he committed suicide in 
Milwaukee. 

Charlie Mott moved to Indiana with his people; 
Curly, taking the advice of Denis Simmons when 
he served his term at the Bridewell, enlisted in the 
United States army, and Herman, who turned out 
a very hard case, is doing a ten-years term at Joliet. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

WHAT FOLLOWED. 

James Hadley was released from jail the after¬ 
noon following the arrest of the boy burglars. At 
that time the confession implicating Mrs. Claypole 


WHAT FOLLOWED 


135 


had not been made. The first thing the young man 
did, upon regaining his liberty, was to hunt up the 
detective and question him. He found the officer, 
not without some difficulty. That worthy gentle¬ 
man apologized profusely. 

“ I got it so dead straight,” he said, “ that I 
thought sure you were one of the gang. Her best 
laces being taken, and so on, made me think it very' 
likely that you was the bloke. ” 

“ But who gave you your information in the first 
place? What caused you to suspicion me? ” 

“ Well, Ill tell you, Hadley, I know you are a 
pretty good fellow, and don’t think hard of me. A 
woman did.” 

“ A woman? ” 

“ Yes; you see, it was just like this: The reporters 
were springing old Mendelsohn’s talk in the papers, 
and they were getting back at us in great shape. I 
went to your house to see if I could not get some 
pointers from you. A lady met me at the door. 
She was all dressed. I guess she was going out. 

‘ No; Mr. Hadley is not at home,’ she said, as I 
asked her. ‘ What do you want of him? ’ I didn’t 
give away my business, but the wind did. A gust 
of breeze came around the corner and blew my coat 
open. She saw my star. She got as white as a 
sheet. ‘ You are a detective,’ she said. 

“Seeing she had dropped to me, I said: 'Yes 
ma’am, that’s my profession.’ 

“ * You came to see Mr. Hadley about that lace 
robbery? ’ she asked. 


THE STOLEN LACES 


136 

“ I said ‘ I thought perhaps you might give me 
some idea.’ 

“ 4 Come up-stairs a moment,’ she said, quickly. 
I followed her up the stairs. She took me in her 
room, and, going to her bureau-drawer, took out 
about ten yards of lace. 

“ ‘ Do you think this can be any of the stolen 
lace ? ’ she asked. 

“ I examined it closely. It looked.like some of 
the samples old Mendelsohn had showed us. I 
told her so. 

“ ‘ I thought as much,’ she said. 

“ 4 Where did you get this lace?’ I asked her. 

“ ‘ I bought it from James Hadley,’ she said. 

“ You could have knocked me down with a feather. 

I went out and got a warrant for your arrest right 
off; so that is the reason I nabbed you.” 

“Is this the truth?” asked Hadley, when the 
officer had finished. 

“Trupas preaching,” answered the gentleman. 

“ What kind of a looking woman was she? ” 

“ Medium tall, good looking, with blonde hair.” 

“ Mrs. Claypole,” cried the young man. 

To the officer he said: “ I don’t blame you, my 
man, I would have done the same thing if I had 
been in your place. I understand it all now. I 
can see through it,” and, leaving the detective, he 
hurried home. 

At the house he was met with open arms. 
Every one was delighted to see him. Mrs. Freling- 
huysen even helped him the second time to steak, 
without looking cross and disagreeable. 


WHAT FOLLOWED 


137 

He found that Miss Goggles had been found, but 
the joy of her home coming had been too much for 
her; she was confined to her bed. He deeply 
sympathized with the unfortunate lady. 

Neither Claypole nor his wife was at the table. 
They had both been in the house when Mr. John¬ 
son had returned with Miss Goggles, but they had 
gone to their room, and had not come down since. 
After tea the young man went out to pay a visit. 
What occurred to him, we will mention later on. 

He did not mention what Mrs. Claypole had 
done to ruin his character; he kept it to himself. 
Miss Goggles had not mentioned what she had 
heard. In the confusion and excitement of home¬ 
coming, she had not thought of it. Shortly after 
seven o’clock an express wagon drove up to the 
door. Lawyer Claypole stepped into Mrs. Freling- 
huysen’s room, and stated he was called away upon 
business, and would take his wife with him. He 
paid his board bill, and the next thing the landlady 
heard was the sound of the men carrying down the 
trunks belonging to the pair. 

The last thing she saw of them was the carriage 
whirling them away toward-the depot. 

We are about to bid farewell to the worthy land¬ 
lady. She kept her boarding house for years upon 
the same spot, seldom having any vacant rooms. 
Her boarders knew her well, and, despite her 
peculiarities, she was well liked by all of them. 

We leave her and her boarders. They will (with 
a few exceptions) not be necessary for the continua¬ 
tion of our story. We shall meet some of them 


138 


THE STOLEN LACES 


again, but not around Mrs. Frelinghuysen’s well 
spread table. 

And what of Miss Goggles? 

The inquisitive spinster £>aid dearly for her vigil 
at the transom. For several weeks she hovered 
between life and death. During her spells of 
delirium she screamed out confusedly about dag¬ 
gers and pistols, and new-made graves, and said 
she was going to be buried alive. 

When she was convalescent the boarders noticed 
a change in her demeanor. She was quiet and 
subdued, and her shrill voice had lost the sharp 
ring which added harshness to her bitter sentences. 
She did not interest herself as much in the affairs of 
her neighbors. Her spirit of prying inquisitiveness 
seemed to be broken, and more than one of the 
boarders remarked: 

“ Miss Goggles has greatly improved since her 
sickness.” 

Mr. Johnson, it was noticed, kept silent on the 
subject, but his kindly brown eyes were forever 
fixed on the thin, pale face of the spinster, as though 
he were trying to read the secret of her reforma¬ 
tion. 

Miss Goggles’ sudden seizure and subsequent 
dangerous condition had withdrawn attention from 
the deplorable conduct of Mrs. Claypole, and that 
attractive lady was permitted to enjoy her flirtations 
in peace. 

Interest was not revived in her again until the 
confession of the boy burglars, and then there was a 
sensation in the Frelinghuysen boarding-house. 


WHAT FOLLOWED 


139 


Mr. Hadley startled the boarders at dinner the 
day after the confession by rushing in, excitedly 
shouting: 

“ I told you so ! ” 

“ Told us what ? ” asked Mr. Johnson, scowling 
at the agitated clerk. 

“ Why, that she was no good. ” 

“ Ah ! that's very explicit,” sarcastically remarked 
the old gentleman, causing a titter round the board ; 
“ and who may she be ? ” 

“ Mrs. Claypole,” shrieked Hadley, almost fran¬ 
tically, as he dropped into his seat and viciously 
attacked the soup. 

This declaration had a curious effect. Every 
knife and fork dropped on the instant, and all eyes 
were fixed on Hadley, and ten voices, blended with 
intense curiosity, exclaimed : 

“ Why, what is the matter ? ” 

This was one of the supreme moments in the 
clerk’s life. He dropped his tablespoon, mounted 
on a chair, and addressed the boarders in a half- 
oratorical, half-hysterical fashion, as follows : 

“ Ladies and Gentlemen — You all know me and 
how I have suffered. The thieves have been 
caught; a confession has been made ; Mr. and Mrs. 
Claypole are implicated. She was not so much of 
a flirt as a thief. The nicely dressed, curly-headed 
boy who called her mother was the captain of the 
gang. He was a peddler. She tried to spoil my 
character. The officers are looking for her. She 
will be hung if they catch her, and I shall marry 
my darling Ophelia. And -” 


140 THE STOLEN LACES 

Here Hadley broke down, dropped into a seat 
again, and buried his head in the soup plate, while 
his frame shook with convulsive sobs. 

There was intense excitement in the dining¬ 
room. 

Then broke out a gable of conversation, and the 
whole story was drawn out piece-meal from Hadley. 
Every one seemed delighted with the misfortune 
which had overtaken the audacious blonde and 
her bland-like husband, the only regrets being that 
they had left the house before the officers arrived to 
arrest them. 

In the parlor one evening Mr. Johnson and Miss 
Goggles sat in earnest conversation long after the 
rest of the boarders had retired. 

“ And that was the cause of your illness,” Mr. 
Johnson was saying, as he moved his chair a little 
nearer the spinster. 

“ Yes; I was frightened out of my wits by the 
young man’s ferocious threats,” she replied, meekly. 

“ It seems he tried to carry them out,” replied 
the gentleman, gravely. 

“ No one can ever know how I have suffered,” 
cried Miss Goggles. “ I believe it is a punishment 
put upon me for meddling with other people’s bus¬ 
iness. ” 

“ And you never intend to meddle with other 
people’s affairs again? ” 

“ Never.” 

“ Henrietta! ” 

“ Mr. Johnson! ” 

“ You are the woman I’ve been looking for all my 


HADLEY’S VISIT 


141 

life. Curiosity, woman’s greatest failing, seems 
entirely crushed out of you. I am yours; will you 
be mine? ” 

Miss Goggles did not faint. She threw herself 
into Mr. Johnson’s arms, and they sealed the 
betrothal with a kiss. 

CHAPTER XX. 

HADLEY’S VISIT. 

We have said that James Hadley went out to pay 
a visit the night after his release. 

We have also stated that we would mention 
what occurred to him later. The time has come. 
We will relate his adventures of that night. 

Our readers have doubtless surmised where the 
young man was going. If there is any doubt in 
the mind of any one, we will instantly relieve it. 
He was going to visit his darling Ophelia. That 
young lady, the idol of his heart, resided with her 
father in a palatial residence on North LaSalle 
street. Being possessed of unlimited wealth, the 
old gentleman had erected for himself and family a 
magnificent mansion — one that would attract 
the attention of any one, being by far the most 
costly in design and architecture upon the street. 

James Hadley had been there often before. The 
old gentleman had favored his suit previous to the 
unfortunate robbery, which had come well nigh 
ruining his prospects forever. And so James 


142 


THE STOLEN LACES 


had called regularly, every Tuesday and Sunday 
night, and, sometimes, during the week. 

But, as he wended.his way toward the mansion 
this particular night, his heart nearly failed him. 

He feared to face the worthy gentleman, Ophe¬ 
lia’s father. But it must be done, and, so biting 
his nether lip, the young man, with a heart beating 
like a trip-hammer, mounted the steps. 

Nervously he pulled the bell. A negro servant 
answered the summons. 

“ Fo de lawd’s sake, if it ain’t Mister Jim,” cried 
out that functionary. 

“ Hush, Ralph. I don’t want to arouse the 
neighborhood,” cautioned the young man. 

“ Doesyo want to see de ole man? ” 

“ Yes. Is he home?” 

“Yes; he’s alius at home at night. He am watch¬ 
ing Miss Feely now. He done fo’bid me to ever 
let you in, Mister Jim.” 

“Is that so?” 

“ Sho. But you know how to ’cognize a boy. 
You ain’t afeered of yo dimes and quartahs. I’d 
nebber go back on yo, Mister Jim.” 

“ Will you go tell the old gentleman I’d like to 
see him? ” 

" Sho. You just wait heah.” And, closing the 
door (first inviting the young man into the vesti¬ 
bule), the servant hurried away. 

In a few minutes he returned. 

“ I done tell de ole man dat a gentleman wanted 
to see him; go rite back to his study.” 

“ His study, Ralph? ” 


HADLEY’S VISIT 


143 


“ Yes. I s’pose so. I can’t get used to^de high- 
toned names for rooms now’days. You knows 
whar it am.” 

“ Yes; I know the room.” 

He walked back to the study, so the old gentle¬ 
man had termed it. Precious little studying he did 
in it, however, unless smoking a rank pipe can be 
called studying. The door was closed; so Hadley 
rapped upon it. 

“ Come in! ” roared the voice he knew so well 
and feared so much to-night. 

He opened the door. The room was *hick with 
tobacco smoke. Through the cloud he spied the 
well-known form of Ophelia’s'father, lying back in 
an arm-chair, vigorously puffing away at his pipe. 

“ Good evening, Mister Masters,” he said. 

“ Good evening. I can’t quite see you.” Then, 
as he recognized the young man, he thundered out: 

“ What in h-1 do you mean by coming here, you 

scoundrel. I thought you were in jail.” 

The young man turned red, and stammered out: 

“ I was released to-day, sir.” 

“Released!-. What in-. do the 

-fools mean by turning out a- 

thief to prey upon the people? ” 

“I am no thief, Mr. Masters. The robbers were 
arrested this morning. I was released as soon as 
they found out I was innocent.” 

“ I didn’t see it in the papers,” muttered the old 
man, somewhat mollified, and feeling a little 
ashamed of himself. 





144 


THE STOLEN LACES 


“ It is in the Evening News , sir,” answered Had¬ 
ley, producing the paper. 

The old gentleman snatched it, and read the 
account. 

“ Hum. So it is,” he growled. 

“ So you didn’t help Mendelsohn to rob himself, 
or the thieves either? ” 

“ No, sir. My release proves my innocence.” 

“ How did you come by the lace you presented 
to my daughter? ” 

“ I purchased it, sir, from Mr. Mendelsohn. I 
got it below price.” 

“ Well, that looks reasonable,” growled the old 
fellow. “ Perhaps I wronged you? ” he added. 

“ Indeed, you have, sir. You have nearly broken 
my heart,” answered the young man, with tears in 
his eyes. 

“Bosh! Young fellows like you always talk 
such nonsense. Wait till you are as old as me, 
you’ll find out you haven’t any heart. Here, if you 
want to talk to me you’ve got to stop that snifflin’. ” 

The young man dried his tears. 

“ I suppose, now, you want to see Ophelia ? ” 
asked the father. 

“ Yes, sir. I should like to.” 

“ I suppose you would; well, you can’t see her 
to-night. I must investigate this affair. These 
burglars have been arrested, but there is no proof 
of your innocence as yet. I’ve always liked you, 
Hadley. I’ve thought there was good stuff in you; 
and, when I heard you were suspected, I felt 
mighty bad. I got hopping mad about it, and 


HADLEY’S VISIT 


145 


kicked the fellow out of my office who told me 
about it. But, when I come to think of it, I came 
to the conclusion that there might be something in 
it. So I ordered Ophelia to send back your gew¬ 
gaws. When I read you had been arrested, that 
settled it. Now, don’t feel hard against me, boy; 
but you know Ophelia is the apple of my eye. I 
can’t have her marry any one who’s name is clouded 
by suspicion. You go away to-night, and, when 
you can bring me conclusive proofs of your inno¬ 
cence, then you shall have my girl. You under¬ 
stand ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” answered the young fellow, with the 
tears starting again. “ But it seems hard to me, 
sir.” 

“ If you are all right, it will only be a day or two 
before everything will be straight. Don’t fret. If 
you are proven entirely innocent, you shall have 
Ophelia with my blessing and a substantial start in 
life. Now go.” 

The young man started to thank him, but the old 
gentleman cut him short, and hustled him out of 
the room. 

Sadly the young man descended the step. He 
was walking along slowly, when a light foot-fall 
sounded behind him. He turned; it was Ophelia. 
“ Ralph told me you were with pa,” she whis¬ 
pered, “ I heard all he said from the west room; I 
came out the basement way to see you. ” 

“ God bless you,” he cried, kissing her in the 
shadow of the houses. 


The Stolen Laces 10 


146 


THE STOLEN LACES 


“ Don’t do that,” she whispered, “ some one will 
see you,” but she made no effort to leave him. 

“ I don’t cajre if they do,” he answered. “ I don’t 
care for any one/as long as you are with me,” and 
he kissed her again. 

“ Now, James, you must stop. Everyone in this 
block knows me, and what would they think of me 
if they saw you kissing me ? ” 

“ I won’t do it again,” he answered. 

“ I am so glad you’re free again.” 

“ So am I, mighty glad.” 

“ And you can prove your entire innocence. ” 

“ It will all come out,” he answered evasively. 

“ I hope so. Now, you see pa is not such a hard 
man, after all.” „ 

“ He nearly raised my hair when I went into his 
study.” 

“ He didn’t know then. He was not so bad when 
you left? ” 

“ No, not quite; he forbade me seeing you; that 
was bad enough.” 

“ But you have seen me, haven’t you? ” 

“ Yes, you little darling.” 

“Now James, don’t be foolish again;” he had 
made a motion to take her to his arms. 

“ I only came out to make up for pa’s rudeness; 
you feel all right now.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then, I will run in again.” 

“ No, don’t go yet.” 

“ James Hadley, I can’t stand here in the street 
.half the night.” 


HADLEY’S VISIT 


147 


“ 1 don’t want you to. Only a little while longer. 
Think what I have suffered,” pathetically. 

“ You have suffered, poor fellow; haven’t you?” 

“ Terribly. Think of an innocent man being 
locked up in a dark prison cell.” 

“ I don’t want to think of it,” she murmured, 
shuddering; “ it is too horrible. I should die if 
they were to lock me up.” 

“ I thought at one time that I should die. But 
you came to me like an angel. Your bright smile 
and loving words drove away all my sad thoughts, 
made my dreary cell brighter.” 

“ My, how poetically you speak,” she cried, 
bursting into a silvery laugh. 

“ There is more truth than poetry in what I have 
said, ” he answered. “ I believe I should have com¬ 
mitted suicide, or something, if you had not come.” 

“I am glad I came,” she answered. “ Have 
you found out how they came to arrest you? ” 

“ Yes. I have found out some things !” 

“ Tell me!” 

“ Not until I can prove my innocence to the satis¬ 
faction of your father.” 

" You are awfully mean,” pouting. 

“ It is best to keep what I know until I can dis¬ 
cover all. Now, don’t pout, or I’ll kiss you again.” 

“ Don’t you dare. But if you won’t tell me, I shall 
go in the house.” 

“ I can’t tell you to-night, Ophelia.” 

“ Very well, then, Mr. Hadley, good-night,” and 
she turned to leave him. 

" Ophelia. ” 


148 


THE STOLEN LACES 


“ Well.” 

“ You are not angry? ” 

“ Well, just a little.” 

“ It is best not to tell you; I am acting for the 
best.” 

“ Well, if you think so, all right.” 

“ You’ll give me a good-night kiss? ” 

“ I don’t know whether I will or not.” 

He clasped her in his arms, and rained kisses 
upon her pouting lips. At last she broke away from 
him and ran toward her residence, while the young 
man returned home, happy as a lord. 

The next morning the confession of the boy 
burglars appeared in the papers. Armed with this 
proof, he hurried to Mr. Master’s office. That old 
gentleman had already read it. 

“ It’s all right now, my boy,” he shouted. “ You 
can have Ophelia, and welcome. Go up to the 
house and see her. Enjoy yourselves. Hitch up 
the ponies, and take her out to the park. I feel as 
good as though I was the father welcoming home 
the prodigal son. Damn my eyes, if I wouldn’t 
kill a dozen fatted calves if I had ’em.” 

With a happy heart, the young man sought 
Ophelia. Side by side in the little basket phaeton, 
he told her all. 

Hearing the story, she looked up into his face and 
murmured: 

“ Wasn’t she a wicked woman? ” 

To which he replied: 

“ All women are not angels like you, darling,” 
and she believed him. 


A WICKED PAIR 


149 


CHAPTER XXL , 

A WICKED PAIR. 

And this wicked woman and her husband, what 
of them? 

Come with me, dear reader, many, many miles. 
With the speed of thought we will fly over the 
States of Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky, Tennessee, 
South Carolina, and a portion of Georgia. 

In the city of Atlanta, called the Gate City of 
the South, we will rest. Quite a long journey; but, 
I trust, you are not fatigued by your journey. 

Let us stroll along Decatur street; we turn to the 
left, cross Peach street, and now we are on Mari¬ 
etta street. Night has fallen. The lights of the 
city twinkle merrily. The brilliant lights .of the 
saloons and dens of gambling flash out in the night. 

We enter one of them. A flashy sign over the 
entrance bears the words “ The Big Bonanza. ” Of 
a verity, it is a big bonanza for the proprietor. We 
go on through the saloon, a magnificently decorated 
establishment—costly mirrors, on every side, reflect 
the scenes of life and excitement that abound — go 
on to the gambling-hall beyond. 

Surely, we have met that smooth-talking, jovial, 
smiling man before, who sits in the dealer’s seat at 
the faro table. It is Henry Claypole. But how 
came he here? Upon leaving Chicago, the pair, 


THE STOLEN LACES 


ISO 

taking all their money and what jewelry the ras¬ 
cally lawyer could stuff into his pockets, took the 
train for Louisville, Kentucky. Lingering there 
for a few days, they continued their flight (for flight 
it was) to Atlanta. Alice Claypole had been well 
known in this city during war times. She had 
been compelled to fly, owing to an amour with a 
certain gentleman, whose wife threatened her life. 
But both husband and wife were dead now. Ten 
years had elapsed, since, a young and beautiful 
woman, she had captivated the hearts of so many 
of the male sex, and she felt she could return in 
safety. 

Once there, she soon became notorious. She 
bought a magnificent house, filled it with beautiful 
women, whose smiles and affections could be pur¬ 
chased; installed herself as the mistress of this den 
of infamy, and bade defiance to law and order. 

She was arrested often; but her vast wealth, 
backed up by her beauty, and the influential men 
who nightly flocked to her house, easily freed her. 
She seemed to own the city. 

Claypole invested a portion of his wealth in the 
“Big Bonanza,” enjoying the life of excitement 
into which he was suddenly introduced. He dealt 
at his own faro table. He enjoyed the sight of 
men losing their all before his eyes. Always 
heartless, he became cruel, as hard as adamant. 
One night, when a black-haired, handsome youth, 
who had staked his last dollar and lost, drew a 
revolver from his pocket and blew his brains out, 
he only wiped the blood from his hands with his 


A WICKED PAIR 1 51 

scented pocket-handkerchief, and said to a negro 
servant: 

“ Move that corpse out of the room. Make your 
bets, gentlemen,” and turned out the next card 
from the box. 

Fortune seemed to favor them both. The 
woman had the wealthy men of the city at her feet. 
Many of them showered costly gifts upon her, often 
neglecting their wives and children for her. 

She treated them all alike. She was too politic 
to show a preference for any particular one. 

True, she had her lovers — women of this stamp 
usually have —but they were not of the class who 
showered money and jewels upon her. 

The man was the cock of the walk in the circle in 
which he moved. Money rolled in upon him as if 
by magic. He was satisfied. 

The night was far advanced. The large clock in 
the gambling hall indicated the hour of two. The 
room was crowded. All the games were going at 
full blast. For three hours Claypole had been turn¬ 
ing out the cards. For three hours seeing the 
money rolling in; occasionally some of it rolled 
out, but seldom. Faro is a good game for the 
bank. 

Suddenly he raised his head. A noisy crowd 
had just entered the hall, coming from the saloon 
in front. 

A party of young sports, and in their midst a tall, 
noble-looking young man, evidently a stranger. 

Mechanically dealing, Claypole kept his eye 
upon the newcomer. The tall torm had a 


152 


THE STOLEN LACES 


familiar appearance to him. Where had he seen it 
before? Calling a negro, who stood near by, to 
deal for him, he walked toward the chuck-a-luck 
table, where some of the party were betting. 

He advanced close to them. 

At that moment the stranger turned. 

With a gasp of surprise, Claypole fell back. 

He had recognized the man. 

Evidently the stranger had not seen him, for he 
gave no sign of recognition. 

With a quick movement, the gambler (not lawyer 
now) hurried from the room by a side entrance 
opening upon an alley. A carriage was standing 
upon the street as he hurried out to Marietta 
street. 

“ Drive me to Alice Claypole’s,” he commanded 
the negro driver, jumping in. 

The man nodded his head; he knew the man. 

Reaching the house, he threw the driver a gold- 
piece, and rushed up the steps leading to the door. 
Sounds of revelry came to his ears. A party of 
commercial men were holding high revel inside. 

The mistress of the house opened the door. 
She started in surprise when she saw-her husband. 

“ You, Henry,” she cried. “What brings you 
home at such an hour? You are early.” 

“Come into the room Ally,” he muttered, 
hoarsely. “ I have something of importance to 
communicate.” 

Alarmed at his words, and the expression of his 
face, the woman closed the door, and followed him 
into the bed-room. 


A WICKED PAIR 153 

“ What is it, Henry,” she cried, when they were 
alone. 

“ We are lost,” he gasped. " George Duryea is 
in Atlanta.” 

The woman staggered back, one jeweled hand 
pressed to her face. 

“ How do you know this? ” she asked. 

“ He came into the ‘ Bonanza ’ with a party of 
sports to-night; with them, he will be sure to come 
here; if he sees you, we are done for forever.” 

“ Are you sure it was he,” asked the woman, in 
a low, anxious tone. 

“ Do you think I could be mistaken? No, Ally; 
I saw his face.” 

“ It is the same, altered but little.” 

“ Did he see you ? ” 

“ No. I left the place at once.” 

“ Then, all may not be lost. He . may not come 
here. If he does, I can easily keep out of his way. 
Millie can attend to the door. As we know he is 
here, we can keep out of his way. He may only 
be passing through town, and has stopped off for a 
day or so.” 

“ I hope it may be as you say,” muttered the 
man. “ But my heart sinks with fear.” 

The woman, now recovered from her fright, 
looked upon him scornfully. 

“ Bah! ” she cried, contemptuously. “ Be a 
man. There is no danger. Your conscience has 
made you a coward.” 

The man made no reply. 

“ Hark ! What is that? ” he suddenly demanded. 


154 


THE STOLEN LACES 


“ Some one at the door,” she answered, coolly, 
starting toward the hall. 

He seized her wrist. 

“ No. Don’t you go,” he gasped. “ Let some 
one else answer the summons. It may be he. ” 

“ Well, to please you, I will not go. I will close 
up the house soon, at any rate. ” 

The bell rang out again. 

The first summons had not been answered. 

They heard the sound of a woman’s light step 
hurrying to the door, then the loud voice of the 
party that had been admitted. Then the parlor 
door was opened, and the voices grew distant. 

“ They have gone into the parlor, whoever they 
are,” murmured the woman. 

The man made no reply, but his uneasy eyes 
were fixed upon the door, his ears were strained to 
catch the faintest sound. 

Suddenly the parlor door opened again. 

“ You must not go in there, Dick,” they heard a 
woman’s Voice remonstrating. 

“ I only want to see her a minute, Gertie,” 
answered a man. 

“ But that is Miss Alice’s room. You must not 
go in there.” 

“ Nonsense. She is a good friend of mine. She 
will be glad to see me. . Come on,” they heard him 
answer. 

The next moment, before the man could spring 
forward and lock it, the door opened, and a young 
fellow, his eyes dancing from the effect of drink, 
entered the room, 


A WICKED PAIR 


155 


“ Excuse me, Miss Alice,” he said, with drunken 
gravity, “ but I have a friend I would like to intro¬ 
duce to you. He is a stranger in Atlanta, and I 
know you always make strangers welcome. Millie 
didn’t want me to come in, but I knew you wouldn’t 
care.” 

“ I am engaged, Dick,” murmured the mistress. 

“ It’ll only take a minute. Come in, George.” 

A tall man, who had been standing in the hall, 
entered the room. His black, piercing eye glanced 
around the room. At last it rested upon the cow¬ 
ering man near the grate, then upon the woman. 
A cry of surprise, of anguish, came from between 
his parted lips. 

“ My God ! Have I found you ? ” he muttered. 

No sound came from the pair, only a look of fear 
in the man’s eyes; of terror in the eyes of the 
woman. 

With a quick movement the stranger turned to 
the maudlin man who had brought him here. 

“ Leave the room for a moment,” he commanded, 
" I have met the lady before. I will join you 
presently. ” 

“ All right, George, I’ll see you later,” and the 
young man left the room. 

The stranger locked the door, and then turned 
upon the pair before him. 

“ After all these years, I have found you,” he 
began, sternly. 

“ Yes, you have found me,” said the woman, in 
a low, frightened tone. 

“ And how have I found you? A low, despica- 


156 


THE STOLEN LACES 


ble wretch, a thing unworthy the name of woman! ” 

She made no reply. He continued, “ I find you 
with the wretch who led you astray; the fiend who 
came into my house in the guise of friendship, and 
left naught but dishonor, disgrace; my God, 
woman, this is awful.” 

“ Pity me, George; I am but a woman, prone to 
weakness.” She falls on her knees before him. 

“ Pity you; for what? Did you pity me? did you 
pity your children — my children — madam, when 
you left them in the night, sleeping in their innocent 
helplessness, knowing nothing of a faithless mother’s 
hard heart? ” 

Ah, George, don’t reproach me; your words cut 
me to the heart.” 

“ Do they? And should they not? You seem 
to think I should not reproach you; should not lay 
before you the terrible truth. You know it all too 
well. Gaze upon me, madam, false wife, unloving 
mother; do you see the wrinkles upon my fore¬ 
head, the gray hairs in my head, brought there by 
you? For years I have been a wanderer upon the 
face of the earth; you have made me one; home¬ 
less, wretched, alone! ” 

A sob burst from his lips. 

“ But the children^ George; I left them to you.” 

“ Left them to . me. Oh, doubtful kindness. 
Left them to me! Would you know what has 
become of them? ” 

“ Yes. Tell me, tell me! ” 

He looks down upon her; his voice grows stern 
and harsh. 


A WICKED PAIR 


157 


" They are dead! ” he answered. 

“ Oh, no! It cannot be! ” she moaned. 

“ It is true. The youngest died from the want 
of proper nourishment. He had not his mother. 
He was too young to wean. He starved to death.” 

“ Oh, my God!” 

“ The other died from the effect of exposure. 
Intrusted to the care of a nurse, she allowed him 
to get wet one day in a storm. He caught cold 
and died. Would you like to know his last words? ” 

“ Yes,” in a frightened whisper. 

“ Papa, will I see my mamma in Heaven? ” 

“ Oh, my babies! My poor little deserted chil¬ 
dren,” moaned the woman. 

“ It is too late to mourn now. You killed them 
both. You have broken my heart. Now is the 
day of retribution.” 

His voice sounded terrible to the ears of these 
two. 

“ What are you going to do? ” gasped the 
woman. 

“ Going to punish you, in a way that you will 
never cease to think of your horrible crime. I 
shall not take your life. No; not that. I shall 
proclaim to the world in the morning that you are 
my wife. I do not mind the disgrace. I shall 
force you to live with me. You shall be kept a 
prisoner in your room until the day of your death. 
Before your eyes shall be placed the portraits of 
your dead children. The last words of your eldest 
child shall be painted upon the walls. Everywhere 
you turn, the words ‘ Papa, will I see my mamma 


158 


THE STOLEN LACES 


in Heaven?’ shall meet your eyes. I will punish 
you through your conscience, madam — a terrible 
punishment.” 

The woman only moaned. 

He turned to the man: 

“ And you, you crawling snake, you shall be 
granted an hour. When I leave this house, you 
shall go with me. We will go to a secluded spot, 
which I saw to-day, and, as the gray dawn breaks, 
you shall face me. I will have your life; but it shall 
not be said I murdered you. I am an expert pistol 
shot; I never miss. I shall take deliberate aim at 
your black heart and kill you.”* 

“ You would murder me,” cried Claypole. 

“ No; a duel is not murder in Georgia. Now, 
prepare. First, I shall summon a policeman, who 
shall guard this house to see that you, woman, do 
not escape me; then we will leave it. Look the 
last on the wretch for whom you left husband and 
children. You will never see him more. I shall 
return soon.” 

He left them alone. 

“ It is all over, Ally,” moaned the man. “ Retri¬ 
bution has fallen upon us.” 

“ You fool,” hissed the woman, rising to her feet. 

“ Ho you suppose I shall remain here waiting for 
his return? Do you think I am bereft of my senses? 
No. Go you at once by the rear entrance, as 
quickly as you- can have the horses harnessed to 
the landau. When you return I shall be ready. I 
shall take all the money I have. Your bank 


A WICKED PAIR I $9 

account is good. We can escape him. If he pur¬ 
sues us-” 

“ Well, what then? ” 

“ The road we must take is dark and lonely. We 
can catch a train at Lula. We will allow him to 
come closely to us. I am a good shot with a 
revolver. He will never trouble us more.” 

“ You would kill him.” 

“ Yes. He would not hesitate to destroy me 
nor you. Self-preservation is the first law of 
nature. But you must hasten. He will return 
soon.” 

The man hurried out of the room. The woman 
hastily tore off her costly evening dress. Soon 
the magnificent costume lay in fragments upon the 
floor. 

Suddenly she paused. A devilish light appeared 
in her eyes. 

“ No,” she murmured; “ I will not fly from him. 
I will not give up my life of pleasure to hide away 
in the quietude of obnoxious private life. I have 
gone too far. I will continue on. It is better so.” 

She slipped on a loose wrapper; then, opening the 
top drawer of her dressing-case, took out a small, 
gold-mounted, ivory-handled revolver. 

Looking upon it fondly, she kissed it, and mur¬ 
mured: 

“ When all else fails me, you shall be my savior.” 

Then she calmly awaited the return of the two 
men — husband and lover. 


i6o 


THE STOLEN LACES 


CHAPTER XXII. 

A HORRIBLE TRAGEDY. 

In ten minutes the hurried footsteps of Claypole 
were heard in the hall. The next moment he burst 
in at the door. 

" Come! Everything is ready,” he cried; then, 
seeing her sitting so calmly before him, he gasped: 

" Are you not going? ” 

“ No,” firmly. 

He staggered back. 

“ You will stay here, await his return? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then, you have decided to die, to leave me per¬ 
ish,” in a hoarse tone. 

“ No, Henry. I have decided to do nothing of 
the kind. I have made up my mind to live , to save 
you! ” 

A wild light of joy came to his eyes. 

“ But how, Ally — how ? ” 

“ Listen. In a short time he will return. Meet 
him with a bold front. There has been too much 
trembling and cowering. Seem to be anxious to 
meet him! Go out of the back gate. Select your 
ground, not his. Not fifty yards from the house is 
the railroad trestle that crosses the street. There 
is a light in the cut. There you must take him. 
There shall you stand face to face. ” 

“ But it means sure death to me, Ally. I am no 
shot. He will kill me.” 


A HORRIBLE TRAGEDY 


161 

** Hear me through. He will return with an 
officer. But it must needs be a good officer who 
can outwit a desperate woman. From this room a 
private staircase leads to the one above. You 
know of its existence. It was built in the house 
to enable gamblers to escape their pursuers. Up 
this stair I will go, then out upon the roof. From 
this house to the next will be an easy matter, and 
so on, until the railway is reached. The track runs 
within four feet of the edge of the roof of the house 
upon the corner. This four feet I can easily leap. 
You take the man, under the trestle. I will be 
above, on the trestle. The moment he turns to 
fire — I will shoot — my bullet will reach his heart. 
You understand?” 

“ Yes. A devilish scheme, but a good one.” 

“ Then we will carry the body up on the track. 
The four o’clock train will crush and mangle it out 
of all semblance to manly beauty. We can return 
to the house — I by the same path by which I came, 
you by the back entrance. Now, don’t fear. I 
will see that you are not harmed. But he must 
die.” With fiendish energy she hissed out the 
words. 

“ He comes,” she whispered, as the outer door 
opened, and heavy footsteps sounded without. The 
next moment the door of the room flew open and 
Duryea entered. 

“ I have arranged it all,” he cried, as if speaking 
of a pleasure party. “ Now, Henry Claypole, come 
with me.” 

The Stolen Laces u 


162 


THE STOLEN LACES 


“ One moment,” replied the lawyer gambler, sum¬ 
moning up a tone of fierceness that he did not mean. 
“ You have arranged all this to your satisfaction. 
You have not considered that I might wish to have 
a word in connection with it.” 

“ You? What have you to say? ” 

" This: I don’t object to facing you in mortal 
combat. I don’t fear you. But I think, as the 
challenged party, I have the right to select the 
weapons and the place for the duel. ” 

" I will grant you that privilege. Go on.” 

“ Well, then, we will use revolvers, as you have 
said. The spot for the fight I will conduct you to. 
It is not far distant. If I fall I want to be near my 
house. ” 

" Very well. It makes but very little difference 
to me. Is that all? ” 

“ That is all.” 

“Lead on, then. I will follow you.” At the 
door he stopped, and in a low but earnest tone said 
to the woman: 

“ I shall return soon, madam. There is no chance 
for escape. The house is guarded. Have yourself 
ready to, accompany me. In an hour we leave 
this house.” And he was gone. 

“ Fool! I don’t ! No ! In less than an hour 
you will be a mangled corpse. Now for my work. ” 
With the haste of desperation she stripped off the 
loose wrapper. Then going to a closet, she dis¬ 
appeared. When next she appeared, she was 
clothed in a tight-fitting costume of male attire — 
black velvet coat, vest, and pantaloons. She had 


A HORRIBLE TRAGEDY 163 

often made use of it before in nightly pleasures, 
when she wished to conceal her identity. Rolling 
up her luxuriant blonde hair, she pulled a soft Hat 
over it, and, putting the revolver in her coat pocket, 
locked the door of the room. The change of cos¬ 
tume had not taken up five minutes. Stepping to 
the wall, next the fireplace, she pressed a tiny 
knob, seemingly an ornament in the woodwork of 
the fireplace itself. A small, square panel, about 
two feet square, rolled back, disclosing an opening 
in the wall. Through this she crept, and disap¬ 
peared from view. The aperture opened upon a 
flight of narrow stairs, up which she flew; up 
through the room above to the roof. 

The houses intervening between her own resi¬ 
dence and the elevated railroad track all had flat roofs, 
and were built closely together. It was the work 
of a few minutes to cross them and reach the track. 
Then a few yards further and she was on the trestle. 

The two men had not arrived yet. The distance 
was a little further by the way they had to come. 
She waited. Now she can see them, walking side 
by side. Duryea, tall and noble, Claypole, shorter 
in stature, insignificant looking beside the other. 

They were soon beneath the trestle. She heard 
Claypole say: 

“You stand at the other end of the cut. The 
distance is not over twenty feet. We will count 
three together, and then fire.” 

“"Very good,” answered Duryea. “A dying 
man’s wishes shall be gratified.” 

Claypole gave a start. Suppose it were to be 


THE STOLEN LACES 


164 

his last wish. Suppose the woman were to be 
delayed. He glanced nervously up at the trestle 
above him. He sees a dark figure upon the track: 
No, she has not failed him; she is there. 

The sickly glare of the oil lamp, placed midway 
in the cut, casts a dim light upon the two men. 
They separated, Duryea taking his position, Clay- 
pole remaining motionless. 

As Duryea stops, he takes his revolver from his 
pocket. Claypole already has his. 

“ One,” sounded the stern voice of Duryea. A 
slight movement-on the track above. 

“ Two! ” Claypole clutched his revolver. 

" Three! ” 

The shots rang out in the air—a cry of mortal 
anguish, and two forms fell upon the earth. 

Duryea had uttered the cry. Claypole fell with¬ 
out a murmur, shot through the heart. 

The figure upon the track had not been quick 
enough. She had taken deliberate aim at the tall 
figure of Duryea; but the very instant the fatal 
" three ” had been called, he had fired. His bullet 
had done its work. He fell dead, with the cry of 
anguish. 

Killed by his faithless wife’s bullet. 

The woman sees it all —the pale face of Henry 
Claypole looking up to the dark timber above ; 
the other in the dim light of the oil lamp. 

She cannot scream. It is all so horrible! 

Lying at full length upon the track, she looked 
down upon the effects of her work. For it was her 


A HORRIBLE TRAGEDY l6$ 

own faithless conduct in the years gone by that had 
brought it all about. 

She was oblivious to all sights save the one before 
her — to all sounds save that last, despairing cry. 
She did not hear the rumbling of the approaching 
train — see the swath of light cast by the head light 
of the four o’clock express! 

A rush of wheels — a sickening thud — one hor¬ 
rible scream—and the lifeless, mangled corpse of 
Alice Claypole was hurled down into the street 
below, across the dead form of the partner of her 
numerous crimes. 

The train ran on into the depot, not far distant; 
then the conductor and brakemen, followed by a 
crowd of people who had heard the exclamation of 
the engineer, had seen the blood upon the pilot of 
the engine, hurried up the track. With breathless 
haste they descended the embankment, down into 
the street. A cry of horror went up from all as they 
saw the three dead forms — two with the mark of 
the bullet in their breasts, the roadway stained with 
their life blood, the other horribly crushed by the 
engine. 

A policeman who now approached recognized 
two of them. 

“ They are Henry Claypole and his wife, two of 
the worst characters in Atlanta; their death is a 
horrible one, but the city is well rid of them. 
This other one I don’t know.” 

They picked them up; the man and woman were 
carried to the den of infamy they had made their 
earthly home; the other was carried to an under- 


166 


THE STOLEN LACES 


taking establishment. The following day they were 
buried, mourned by none. 

In the pocket of the stranger was found a note; 
the bullet had pierced it: The officer who dis¬ 
covered it, opened it and read: 

J 

“ To whoever finds this — 

“ I am going out to meet in mortal combat a 
man who has ruined my life, Henry Claypole. I 
think I shall kill him; God would certainly not per¬ 
mit him to destroy me. I write this in case it 
should be that I shall fall. The woman known as 
Alice Claypole is my wife, Alice Duryea; she left 
home, myself and children to lead a life of shame 
with this man. She is a dangerous character; 
watch her. 

“ George Duryea.” 

“ A strange affair this,” commented the officer 
to a reporter of the Atlanta Constitution , who stood 
near. 

“ Very. The two men killed each other. But 
how came the woman, in male attire, upon the 
bridge? ” 

“ I can’t explain that.” 

And they gave up trying. It was never made 
known. God alone knew the truth of the myste¬ 
rious romance of the guilty woman upon the trestle. 

Retribution overtakes the guilty, sooner or later. 


A DOUBLE WEDDING' 


167 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

A DOUBLE WEDDING. 

A CROWD of people have gathered around the 
entrance to one of Chicago’s most fashionable 
churches. The edifice is already as full U,s it will 
hold, but still the crowd surges and pushes, vainly 
trying to find a place within. 

“ I wonder how she will be dressed,” remarked a 
woman holding a squalling baby in her arms. 

“ Which she? ” asks a man next to her. 

“ Why, the youngest one, of course,” and then 
adding, inasharp tone,to the baby: “ Forgoodness’ 
sake, keep quiet, can’t you? ” 

“ If you wait long enough, you’ll see,” answered 
the man. ' r 

“ Make room here; keep a passage-way open,” 
commanded an officer, elbowing his way through 
the crowd. 

“ You needn’t be so rough,” snapped a vinegary¬ 
faced woman, who was jostled out of the way. 

“ Don’t fill up the sidewalk, and you won’t get 
hustled,” answered the officer. 

“ Brute! ” snarled the woman. 

“ Thank you, ma’am. Horse and horse,” replied 
the policeman. 

The crowd roared; those that Understood the 
meaning of the policeman’s words. 


168 


THE STOLEN LACES 

" Now then, officer, give me a chance; I’ll move,” 
cried a little old man with a dirty shirt 'and a bat¬ 
tered plug hat. “ You mustn’t jab me in the ribs 
with your stick,” savagely. 

“ Must keep the passage-way open,” laconically 
answered the policeman, forcing back the crowd. 

“ You can be gentlemanly about it and still do 
your duty,” frigidly remarked a flashily dressed 
young miss. 

“ Can’t, take the time to be a gentleman with 
such a gang. ” 

“ There are ladies present, sir.” 

“ That may be. Ladies know how to conduct 
themselves. It’s only the women who we have 
trouble with.” . 

The miss grew fiery red. 

" Are not all ladies women? ” ventured a young 
fellow, trying to look over his high collar. 

“ Yes; but all women are not ladies. ” 

Another roar of merriment. 

“ Now, move on,” demanded the custodian of 
the peace. 

“ To hear you issue your commands, one would 
think you owned the city, ” growled a little fat man, 
with a red, perspiring face. 

“I have got an interest in it,” answered the 
“ copper,” with a quiet smile. 

“ Yes, as far as your salary goes,” retorted the 
fat man. 

The officer passed on. 

“ Put a blue coat and brass buttons on a clod¬ 
hopper—give -him a star and a stick — and he 


A DOUBLE WEDDING 169 

owns the earth,” remarked a supercilious-looking- 
gent. 

“ You’re right. Why can’t they have men of 
intelligence on the police force? ” said the fat man. 

A shrewd-looking gentleman, who was standing 
near, who up to this time had remained silent, now 
spoke. 

“ You will find men of brain and intellect upon 
the force, gentlemen. It requires brain to ferret 
out the burglar and the assassin. A policeman 
cannot stop to handle a miscellaneous crowd with 
gloves.* He must do his duty, and quickly. If he 
were to go to each one of this surging mass sepa¬ 
rately, and say, cap in hand: ‘ Will you please be so 
kind as to oblige me by moving out of the way? ’ 
the crowd would laugh at him. The men would 
sneer, the women never stir. It is necd^sary to 
exercise an authoritative tone and force people to 
obey the law. Why, if that officer were to allow 
people to have their own way, they’d carry away 
that church there, steeple and all. All those who 
have been venting their spleen upon the officer are 
those who have, been commanded to move from a 
place they had no right to be in. Those who knew 
their places, and kept them, have not found fault.” 

The supercilious gentleman sneered: 

“ You must be in love with the policeman. 
Why don’t you take him in your arms and kiss 
him?” 

The fat man burst into a guffaw. 

“ Good,” he shouted: “ that’s the point.” 

The quiet gentleman flushed, and turned away. 


THE STOLEN LACES 


I^O 

“ Heaven and earth war in vain against a dunce,” 
he remarked. “ I shall not attempt to carry on an 
argument with you;” and somehow or other, the 
sneering gent felt that he had got the worst of it, 
somehow. 

“Police! Police! Stop thief!” shrieked a ner¬ 
vous looking lady. 

“ What’s the matter, ma’am? ” cried the officer, 
running to her. 

“ Oh, some one has picked my pocket. I think 
it was that man there,” pointing*to a respectable¬ 
looking gentleman who was standing near. 

“Now, sir; what have you to say to this?” 
demanded the officer to the gentleman. 

“ Me! ” inquired the gentleman, with open-eyed 
amazement. 

“ Yes. Tift lady says you have picked her 
pocket.” 

“ The lady must be mistaken,” murmured the 
gentleman, nervously. 

“I’ll have to take you in,” said the officer, 
sternly, laying his hand upon the trembling man’s 
shoulder. 

At this moment, the lady, who had been search¬ 
ing through her pockets, cried: 

“ No; I have found it,* officer. It was in my 
pocket, way down in the corner; ” and she smiled 
in a pleasant manner. 

The policeman released the gentleman, and 
apologized. 

“ You ought to be sure before you accuse a 


A DOUBLE WEDDING 171 

gent,” he growled to the woman. “ What did you 
think you had lost? ” 

“ My pocket handkerchief, officer,” and she pro¬ 
duced the article — a cheap cotton handkerchief, 
worth about three cents. 

The crowd howled with derision, and the police¬ 
man turned away angrily. 

“ All that fus$ about a three-cent cotton hand¬ 
kerchief,” he muttered. “ She deserves to be run 
in.” 

“ Ah, my rucks, I’ve got you! ” seizing a young 
man, who had his hand in a gentleman’s pocket. 
“ You needn’t struggle. I know you. Come 
along.” 

“ I wasn’t doin’ nothin’,” whimpered the boy. 

“ You will be given a chance to do something at 
the pen. Nothing like it for you fellows that never 
do anything; ” and he dragged the struggling 
youth out of the crowd, handling him rather 
roughly. 

“ What a shame to pull that poor boy around 
so,” remarked an elegantly dressed lady — one of 
the kind who sends bouquets to murderers. 

“ Serves him right! ” snapped an old gentleman; 
“ vicious young whelp.” 

The lady cast a withering look of scorn upon the 
speaker; but he did not seem to be affected by it 
in the least. He did not dry up and blow away 
under the scathing glance, but stood firmly facing 
her. You will find all kinds of peculiar people in 
a crowd. It takes all kinds to make up a world. 

“ Here they come! Here they come! ” shouted 


172 


THE STOLEN LACES 


a boy, standing upon the curb. 

Such a crowding, such angry glances and sharp 
words as they jostled each other; such a crowding 
of riders as the line of carriages rolled up to the 
sidewalk. 

• The way was opened with difficulty; first came a 
blushing gentleman, who tenderly assisted a mid¬ 
dle-aged lady out of the carriage. 

The old gentleman was dressed in a brand-new 
suit of black; a low-cut vest displayed a shirt 
front of spotless white, topped off by a standing 
collar of surprising stiffness, holding his chin high 
in the air. This worthy individual acted as all 
people act upon such an occasion, * nervous and 
awkward, as if he had not become accustomed to 
his clothes, and had too many hands and feet; 
the lady shrank back from the curious gaze of the 
crowd. She was dressed in a becoming costume of 
drab silk and pink ribbons; her faded hair neatly 
dressed, and set off by ribbons of the same color; 
a faint tinge of pink colored her cheek. 

“ Old Methusalem and his girl,” yelled an irre¬ 
pressible urchin in the crowd; then a roar of 
laughter. 

Mr. Johnson, for it was he, turned fiery red, and 
glanced fiercely around. Woe betide that young¬ 
ster if he could have laid his hands upon him; but 
these youngsters generally keep out of the way. 
They are too smart to get in the way of the objects 
of their ridicule. 

Next came a young man, with shamefaced look 
upon his handsome countenance, as if he had done 


A DOUBLE WEDDING 


173 


something mean and had been detected in the act. 
He was followed by a sturdy old gentleman, with a 
starched collar, who assisted a vision of loveliness 
and delight from the carriage. 

“ Git onto old poppy Masters!” yelled the boy. 

And “ old poppy Masters” looked as if he would 
like to “ git onto ” the boy. 

“ Damned fresh kid,” he growled. 

Ophelia certainly looked bewitching. Her dress 
of white satin and lace fitted her to perfection; 
her glossy hair was arranged in braid and curls, 
surmounted by a veil of white tulle and orange- 
flowers. The novelty of her situation caused her 
lovely eyes to flash like diamonds, and the bloom of 
girlish health tinged her beautiful face. 

A murmur of admiration went up from the crowd. 

“ Isn’t she just lovely.” 

“ That lace must have cost ten dollars a yard.” 

“ What a dear little thing,” from the ladies. 

“ Jehu, but she’s a beaut.” 

“ Ain’t she a dandy.” 

“ What a swell,” from the men. 

" Look out, Miss Handsome; don’t tread on 
your feet,” shouted young impudence. 

A man seized him by the coat collar and shook 
him. “ Here, you keep your mouth shut,” he 
growled. 

The boy remained silent. His youthful ardor 
was suppressed. 

Into the large church, up the wide aisle to the 
altar, marched the wedding party. The grand organ 
burst into loud peals of melody — Mendelssohn’s 


174 


THE STOLEN LACES 


magnificent wedding march. The rustling of silks, 
the odor of perfumes and flowers, filled the large 
auditorium. Before the altar they stopped. Two 
holy men of God stepped before them, and, amid 
a breathless silence, Mr. Johnson and Miss Goggles, 
James Hadley and Ophelia Masters, were made one. 

It was soon over. Then such a kissing and shak¬ 
ing of hands, such congratulations from friends on 
all sides. 

It was bewildering. Mr. Johnson perspired so 
that his immaculate collar wilted and collapsed, and 
James Hadley caught himself trying to stuff his 
wife’s veil into "his pocket, under the belief that it 
was his pocket-handkerchief. Then to the Palmer 
House, where the wedding dinner had been 
ordered. 

How they ate and drank and enjoyed them¬ 
selves. But the reader can imagine. Perhaps he 
or she has been in the same position, and scenes 
like this never die ; memory sustains them as long 
as life lasts; and, even if the future life is not happy, 
if the clouds of discontent cross the sky of married 
life, still does the thought of the wedding day, its 
joys, the feeling of pride that filled the heart, return 
and cast its joyous recollections upon the scene. 
We regret that one little circumstance shadowed 
the joy of the festivities. 

Old Masters drank too much champagne, and had 
to be carried to bed. 

As they tucked him away, he shouted, in his hardy 
old tones: “ By the old Harry, its’h a glorioush 
thing t’have a daughter, and she—her git marrjed. 


A DOUBLE WEDDING 


175 


And such a-nice hush — band too. And to 

think, I near threw him over, and all ’bout a lot of 
stuff he never shtole, ’bout a. lot of stolen 
laces.” Then he collapsed, and his snores nearly 
raised the roof. 


THE END. 


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